sweeter than chocolate, AO3
She startled awake, lifting her head from the desk and looking around the darkened apartment blearily. She wiped a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth on her sleeve, looking down at the history textbook she had dozed off reading. There was the smallest damp patch on one of the pages. She groaned, pushing the book away and rubbing at her eyes, grabbing her wristwatch from the top of the filing cabinet and checking the time, glancing at the windows and the setting sun. It was close to dark. Claire would be home soon.
Emma pushed the chair back as she stood, kicking it back under her desk and wandering through to the kitchen, flicking the light switch on as she walked by. If she started dinner now, it should be close to ready by the time Claire got home, and Claire wouldn’t get a chance to judge her for her afternoon nap. Amazons didn’t nap; they barely needed to sleep. It wasn’t very usual for her to fall asleep alone, but she’d been reading and reading for hours, trying to get down some basics for a case Claire was working, and, well…she’d let her head rest on the desk for just a moment…
And now it was close to 5 in the evening, and she was going through the motions of getting dinner ready, setting a pot of water on to boil, digging through the pantry for pasta and ingredients. She pulled out a jar of sauce and wrinkled her nose at it. Red wine and garlic. It would have to do. Emma also turned to the fridge to dig through the vegetable crisper, pulling free some carrots, broccoli, and the white thing that looked like broccoli that Claire insisted tasted good with the right ingredients around it. Cauliflower. Emma, personally, though it tasted like mush.
She threw the pasta in the pot, turning away to begin slicing and dicing the vegetables in front of her. She knew she needed to grab something else, something more, but her head was so frazzled lately with the problem at hand, and she kept thinking about it, over, and over, and over, and –
Well, Valentine’s Day was coming up.
Emma had never really done a Valentine’s Day. Yes, she and Claire had gotten together over a year ago, but their first Valentine’s Day had just been exchanging chocolate and watching a movie on the couch together. Her stomach flipped. She wanted this year to be special; she wanted every year they were together from now on to be so beyond special. She wanted to make Claire, beautiful Claire, happy.
She had no idea what she was doing.
She tipped the contents of the cutting board into a frypan and poured the sauce over them, turning the heat on low so they could simmer for a while. Cooking still wasn’t her strong suit, but she was good at baking. Her mother had baked with her, once. Before she had been taken away.
Emma slammed the pantry door shut and pressed her forehead against it, closing her eyes again, breathing slowly. Her mind had been so jumbled lately, and it was so hard to stop and rip herself away from the ever-increasing intrusive thoughts that rose up, the memories she kept pushing away. She had Claire now. She had friends, she had church, she had people who loved her. She had Dean, and that was a gift she had never thought, in all those years stuck in Purgatory, she would find again. They were still cautious around each other. Of course they were. But things were always getting better.
She glanced at her phone, biting her lip. Maybe Dean could help with her Valentine’s Day problem.
Emma turned her back to the stove, leaning against the kitchen counter and scrolling through her contacts until she came to WINCHESTER, DEAN. After a moment of hesitation, she tapped the call button and held it to her ear, listening to each ring with growing trepidation.
“Emma?” Dean sounded surprised. Or concerned. There was the tiniest shift in his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Emma replied, trying to keep her tone level. She hadn’t realised how close she was to crying. “I just wanted to talk. And ask you something.”
“Hang on one second,” Dean said. She heard footsteps, and then the sound of a door closing, and all the background noise of their call vanished. “Okay, I’m here.”
“It’s the twenty-third of January,” Emma managed to get out, taking deep breaths, one eye still on the pasta boiling away on the stove, the sauce simmering beside it. “Valentine’s Day is coming up. I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh,” Dean replied. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know how to do this human stuff,” Emma spat, shaking her head. She brushed her hair off her face with one hand and closed her eyes, counting backwards from five. “I’m sorry. Forget it. I didn’t mean to bother you-”
“Em! Emma, wait. Don’t hang up.”
Emma bit the inside of her lip.
“Claire likes mini golf,” Dean said. “You could...you could take her there?”
“I want to do something special,” Emma murmured, wiping a stray tear from her face. She didn’t know why she always felt like crying when she talked to Dean. It was stupid. She loved him. He was her father. “We do mini golf, like, all the time.”
“Special,” Dean said slowly. She could almost hear how hard he’s thinking. “What about dinner? Go out for dinner, Em. Get some nice wine. Chocolates. A nice card - girls love that shit.”
“Claire is not just a girl,” Emma said, but she thought he might be right. The traditional route might be the way to go. Emma has never done this before - she could feel panic rising at the thought of messing it up, but she squashed it down again, willing it to go to the place in her mind where she kept all of her tears. It shouldn’t have been this hard. “I really love her.”
“I know,” Dean replied. “I know you do, Em.”
“Thank you,” Emma sighed. “Thank you for listening to my stupid...whatever that was.”
“You can call me any time, Emma,” Dean sounded earnest, like he really meant it. She didn’t want to deal with that, though.
“I’ll talk to you later, okay? I can hear Claire coming upstairs.”
“Okay, Em. Bye. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye...Dad.”
The word still felt foreign in her mouth. When they had reunited it had come out so easily, but in the two months since she had started to feel awkward, like she didn’t have a right to call him her father. She loved him, in a way that wasn’t familiar to her - in the way she loved Lydia, a deeply visceral connection between them that remained unspoken. They didn’t talk about it. Emma hung up just has she heard the sound of Claire’s keys in the door. One of the perks of being an Amazon was the boost in her senses - she could always hear Claire coming from the moment she parked her car down on the street, the familiar jangle as she pulled out her keys before making her way up to their apartment. Emma rushed around, plating up the simple meal she’d managed to cobble together. It wasn’t perfect. It was a little overdone. But it would do.
“I’m home,” Claire called out as she came through the door. She kicked her sneakers off in the entryway, dropping her keys on the little white table that sat just inside. “What smells good?”
“I made pasta,” Emma replied, earning her a kiss on the cheek. She blushed, setting the plates down on the table. Claire looked tired, like she hadn’t been sleeping much herself, but she still gave Emma a smile and another kiss, brushing the hair off her face, leaning in to kiss her properly. Emma blushed again at the tender way Claire cupped her cheek, the love she felt from the embrace. Claire did nothing by halves - she was all in or all out. It carried over to her personal relationships as well.
“I’m so hungry,” Claire swirled some pasta around her fork and shoved it into her mouth, chewing slowly as she savoured the flavour. She had clearly had a long day, still working on her haunting two towns over. “What did you get up to today?”
“Not much,” Emma replied, sitting opposite Claire and taking a bite of her own food. She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose in disgust. Everyone kept insisting she would get used to the way humans flavoured things, but garlic was one of those things that she hadn’t adjusted to yet. It seemed to overpower every meal it was in. She ate quietly, avoiding Claire’s eyes, afraid her girlfriend would see the tears that had threatened to spill over, though they were long gone now. She hated worrying Claire, hated how people always seemed to think she was fragile. She wasn’t.
They talked a little over dinner, discussing Claire’s hunt, the research Emma had dug up on it. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, better than letting Claire go in blind. Emma could tell that Claire knew something was up, but, thank the goddess, she didn’t push it, she just allowed Emma to be a little odd and quiet and a thousand miles away. After they’d eaten, Claire wandered past with a yawn, stopping to drop a kiss on Emma’s forehead. She said she was going to shower, but Emma knew she wasn’t far off bed. She let her go, staring at her empty plate as she wondered what she was going to do.
-x-
After February began, Emma had made herself a plan, kind of, and it was a good one, she thought. She booked them a table at a local boutique eatery for Valentine’s Day itself. She scrolled through Pinterest for what felt like two straight days looking for ideas. She baked every day while Claire wasn’t home, cookies and cakes and pies, because it soothed her. She talked to Dean.
The talking to Dean every day thing is weird at first, and truth be told Emma’s not even sure how it happened. She had worked herself into another panic attack and gone to call Claire, panicked harder, and hit Dean’s name by mistake. He had talked her through it and then stayed on the phone for another half-hour, just telling her about his day, about Castiel’s mishap with the post office, about Sam and his incessant health kicks. It had calmed her. So the next day, when she felt herself getting panicky again, she’d called him. And the next. And the day after that, Dean had rung her first, wanting to know what she was baking that day and if she’d settled on a gift to give to Claire. It was...nice.
There was one awkward moment, where Dean tried to bring up something she was not ready to talk about, yet, and instead of shutting him down with words she just hung up on him. He called back about fifteen minutes later, apologised, and said they didn’t have to talk about that if she didn’t want to, he just didn’t want her to think he’d forgotten.
“Okay,” Emma said into the phone, sometime around February 7th. “I need help.”
“What with?” Dean asked.
“I need someone to come here and help me make a batch of the chocolates. I need help figuring out how to get it all right, and I need someone to taste-test who knows what they’re looking for. You’re only three hours away, so I thought maybe you could come for the weekend and we could do it together. Claire’s on a hunt.”
“Aw, Em,” Dean sounded upset, and Emma could already feel her hopes dashing. “I would love to, but I’m in South Dakota. I could send Cas, though.”
“Castiel,” Emma replied with uncertainty. The angel made her nervous in a way she couldn’t explain. After a moment, she thought to herself, fuck it. “Alright. Cas would be fine.”
The next morning, Castiel turned up in an old Ford, parking it behind Emma’s car down on the street. He waved up at Emma, who was watching from the window, and made his way upstairs to her and Claire’s apartment.
“Come in,” Emma pulled the door open and stepped aside. “Don’t mind the mess.”
Castiel walked in, taking off his coat and hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. He was wearing a white button-down shirt underneath, sleeves already rolled up, and dark slacks that somehow looked comfortable. He moved easily through the apartment to the kitchen, where Emma had laid out all the ingredients they needed to make chocolate. She was going to do a trial run with Castiel today, and then on Valentine’s Day itself, make a fresh batch. He scrutinised everything carefully with his sharp blue eyes, calculating things in his head, clearly considering each ingredient individually and then considering how they would work together. Emma hesitated, then joined him, her hands clasped in front of her nervously.
“We’re making chocolate,” she offered. He looked back at her, and nodded.
“Claire will like this,” he told her. “You’ve put in a great deal of effort, Emma.”
Emma looked down and smiled. She reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out two aprons, handing one over to Castiel and donning one herself. Castiel’s was a soft powder blue and fringed with white lace. He didn’t even protest, pulling it over his neck and tying it in a neat bow at the back. Emma’s was blush pink and fringed with cream lace, and it had a latticelike pattern across it in ivory. She pulled it on and tied it, having the wrap the string around her waist twice to get it taut across her front. Claire had found the aprons at a charity store a few weeks back and brought them home for Emma, declaring she needed to start protecting her clothes when she was stress-baking because Claire was sick of washing flour out of her clothes. Castiel adjusted his apron after a moment, and then looked to Emma, waiting her instruction.
She showed him how to measure out the right amount of cocoa powder, vanilla and honey, and his deft hands worked quickly on the vanilla bean, using the blade of his knife like a pro to get it open and extract the vanilla out of it. Emma got to work mixing the ingredients together, combining them and the cocoa butter together slowly, letting the heat work its magic. They made a pretty good team, her and Castiel. He was careful, considerate, and weighed up every choice before he made it, letting her do most of the work but stepping in when he thought she needed it. As they waited for the chocolate to set in its moulds in the fridge, Castiel took a seat at their dining table, the dining table he’d sat at just a few months before when Emma and Dean had reunited. He’d been quiet that day. He was quiet now. Emma was grateful for his silence.
The anxiety was crawling inside her again, and she turned away from him, closing her eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath. This was usually the time she’d call Dean, but Dean was busy in Sioux Falls, visiting Jody and the girls. He likes them better than you. Probably wishes they were his daughters instead, the anxiety told her, and she clenched her fists hard enough it felt like they’d break.
In a moment, Castiel was beside her. “Emma,” he said in his deep, gravelly voice, taking care not to touch her, though his hands were doing the same thing Claire’s did when Emma had an anxiety attack - they’d twitch like they wanted to reach for her, but stayed close to his body, not reaching out. She looked up at him and took another deep breath.
“I’m okay,” she gasped out, pushing past him, unable to keep her nervous energy from overflowing. “This just,” her hands were shaking, “happens sometimes.”
“What helps?” Castiel asked, keeping his distance. “I know for Dean, it is rock music. What helps you?”
Emma paused, filing away that sliver of information about Dean to ask him about later, and then looked back at him. “Baking,” she said. “I bake. I’ve been doing it a lot lately. I think Claire is sick of it.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” Castiel reached into the cupboards and pulled out a mixing bowl, tugged a wooden spoon free from the drawer. “While we wait for the chocolate to be ready, what would you like to bake?”
Emma hesitated. And then, she asked him, “What’s Dean’s favourite dessert?”
Castiel grinned at her. “Pie.”
So they got to work, measuring out flour and eggs and everything else you need to make pie crust. Emma kneaded the dough carefully, working her frustration and anxiety out and into it, and took a deep breath. She already felt more steady, more calm. Castiel was slicing apples with the same precision he’d used on the vanilla bean. They stewed on the stove for a little bit in a mix that had honey and cinnamon in it, and Emma spooned it into the pie crust, laying each slice inside neatly. Castiel sliced up thin ribbons of pastry for her to criss-cross over the top, and she grinned at him, feeling a thousand times more comfortable than she had at the start of the day. Across the room, a cheerful melody burst forth from her phone, and she muted it in seconds, looking over at Cas with a grin. “That was the alarm for when the chocolates should be done. I need you to try one and tell me what you think.”
Castiel took a careful bite of the chocolate he pulled free of the mould, and then his blue eyes widened, and he shoved the rest of it in his mouth, chewing slowly. “This,” he declared, “is the best chocolate I have had.”
“Really?” Emma asked, hands clasped in front of her chest. “Do you promise?”
“I promise you, Emma. I have tried....many different kinds of chocolate in my time on Earth. This is the best.”
Emma blushed as pink as her apron, and set about placing the chocolates in a little box for Castiel to take back to the bunker with him. The pie wasn’t far off done, either, and once it was cooling by the oven she bustled around the kitchen looking for a tupperware container large enough to hold it. “Ah-ha!” she said as she pulled one free out of the cupboard they never touched, full of things like tupperware missing lids and oven trays that were rarely used. Castiel smiled at her, and helped her deposit the pie inside without ruining it, promising Dean would get the first slice when he got back from South Dakota tomorrow night.
Castiel hit the road not long after, offering Emma a quick, gentle hug before he left, making her promise to call him if she needed anything. He took with him the chocolates and the pie, and Emma’s number programmed into his phone, and even a quick little handwritten note she had put with the pie for Dean. She knew it was stupid, but she thought he might appreciate something like that from her. It was getting dark outside. She locked the door behind her and settled in to start making Claire a Valentine’s Day card.
When Claire returned from her hunt, a day late at that, she looked around the apartment suspiciously. Emma had hidden all evidence of chocolate-making, the cute little heart-shaped moulds and sprinkles tucked away into the cupboard they never used, and there was a fresh cherry pie cooling on the benchtop when she walked in. Her half-made card was tucked away under the research on her desk, and the post-it note reminding her of the booking she’d made was stuck on the inside of the novel she was reading. There was nothing around to suggest that Emma had anything big planned for Valentine’s Day, and that was how she planned to keep it until the day itself.
-x-
Valentine’s Day dawned bright, sun streaming through the curtains in their room. Claire groaned and threw a pillow at it, curling around Emma and shoving her eyes into her love’s shoulder. Emma gave her a soft kiss on the nose and untangled herself slowly, getting up to make them both coffee and get Claire ready for class. She was taking a few classes down at the local college, just a couple of days a week, easy to schedule in around hunts. She hadn’t decided if she was going to stick with it yet, but Emma thought she would.
Claire wandered out not long after and gratefully accepted the coffee passed her way. It was their morning tradition, Emma making the coffee, Claire drinking it slow while she thought about what she had to do that day. Emma had put a string of paper hearts along the edge of the kitchen bench and Claire giggled at the sight, kissing Emma’s cheek and whispering “Happy Valentine’s Day, you massive nerd.”
She didn’t stay long enough for Emma to say it back, grabbing a piece of toast and shoving on her sneakers, realising she was going to be late if she dawdled around the house any longer. Emma was fine with that, because as soon as Claire was out of the house, she got to work, making the chocolates exactly as she and Castiel had made them. It was easier the second time around, even if she wasn’t quite as good with a knife as the angel was. After lunchtime, there was a knock on the door, and Emma gratefully accepted the delivery of red roses she’d ordered a few days beforehand. Dean had transferred her the money and told her she had to get them, so she did. He’d also sent her a lengthy text about how good her pie was, and that had made her smile.
As it neared closer to five o’clock and the sun began setting outside, Emma got into the shower, washing herself with her favourite body wash, inhaling in the sweet scent of cinnamon and musk. Her anxiety hadn’t overtaken her yet today, and she almost believed it wouldn’t, because everything seemed to be coming together perfectly.
Emma combed her hair with care, letting it fall around her face and shoulders with the slightest wave, and stared at her reflection, considering herself. She looked human. Nobody could ever tell the difference, nobody would want to. She was good enough for Claire, no matter her monster status. Claire believed it, so Emma would believe it too.
She was nervous. Claire would be getting back soon, and suddenly this all seemed like an awful idea, the red roses and the handmade chocolates and the dinner. What if Claire thought it was too much? What if Claire hated it all? Emma steeled herself with a deep breath and smoothed down the front of her dress, clasping her locket around her neck and then her bracelet around her wrist. She lightly applied mascara and some red lipstick, blowing a kiss to the mirror as she walked out of the room. This was fine, she told herself. Claire would love it because it was from her.
Claire walked through the door on her phone, her blonde hair a mess, eyes tired. Emma hesitated, wondering if it was the right time, but she pressed on, stepping out from the hallway. Claire looked up and a smile broke out on her face as she took the sight in. Emma stood nervously in the doorway, wearing a beautiful black dress, her locket around her neck. She was statuesque in her black heels, fiddling nervously with the hem of her dress, the hint of makeup she was wearing highlighting her beautiful features. Her skin was radiant, her dark eyes bright, and she smiled at Claire with nothing but love in her eyes.
“Hello, beautiful,” she said, and Emma crossed the room and leaned down to kiss her, running her thumb across Claire’s cheekbone. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Emma murmured, grinning. “Do you want your gift now?”
“I already have you in my arms,” Claire smirked. “But for real, I want to shower and wash off the day before we do anything.”
“Okay,” Emma beamed at her. “Go shower. We’re going out for dinner, so dress nice.”
Claire pecked her on the cheek before disappearing down the hallway and into the bathroom. Emma gave a contented sigh, closing her eyes. Claire’s presence could always calm whatever storm that brewed in her mind.
Emma set about arranging what she had gotten Claire on the dining room table, trying to make it look perfect. The flowers still looked fresh, a dozen red roses wrapped neatly, set on their lace tablecloth with care. Next, she repurposed their wooden cheeseboard, placing it beside the roses and arranging the chocolates across them, adding a dash of the heart-shaped sprinkles across the top. Finally, she placed a gift box beside them, adjusting the red bow until it was perfect, and then she stepped back, pausing to admire her handiwork. It looked good.
“Oh,” she said aloud, realising the one thing she’d forgotten, and she ducked back to her desk, stopping to admire the handmade card for a moment before slipping it away into an envelope. She returned and set it beside the gift box, sighing with relief. She didn’t know what Claire had gotten her, but she wasn’t expecting much. She just hoped that what she had done was enough.
“I’m ready,” Claire called from across the apartment, and Emma turned, smiling. Claire was wearing a red velvet dress, her long blonde hair falling in waves of gold over her shoulders and down to her waist. She stepped into the room, barefoot, and did a twirl in front of Emma, the skirt of her dress flaring out before coming back down to settle around her hips. She glanced over her shoulder at her girlfriend, smirking. “How do I look?”
“Stunning,” Emma replied, and she meant every inch of the word. Claire laughed, her cheeks flushing pink for a moment, before she closed the gap between them. Without shoes, she had to get up on her toes to kiss Emma. The two women smiled at each other before Emma stepped aside to reveal the roses behind her.
“Oh!” Claire exclaimed, stepping over to the table. She brought one hand up to cover her mouth, surprised, and then looked over at Emma, who was fiddling with the locket around her neck. “Em, you didn’t have to-”
“I wanted to,” Emma cut her off. “Do you like it?”
“Of course I like it,” Claire kissed her again, slowly this time, savouring the moment. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”
Claire reached for the flowers and breathed deep when she held them to her face, loving the fresh, warm scent of the roses, admiring them, their perfect crimson petals, feeling something she had never felt before. This, she thought idly to herself, is what love was supposed to feel like. The warm glow that lived in her chest when she was with Emma, that sometimes dimmed and sometimes shone, and right now was glowing like a star, that was love.
She reached for a chocolate and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly. Her eyes widened and she glanced between Emma and the chocolate. “Did you make these? They’re spectacular.”
“Thank you,” Emma smiled to herself, and giggled as Claire pushed a chocolate to her mouth, her lips parting gently so she could place it inside. In all the rush of making them, Emma had yet to actually taste-test one, and she was more than pleased to find them sweet, but not overbearing. They were good. “I’m glad you like them.”
“Really good,” Claire replied with a mouthful of chocolate. Emma tapped her hand away from them, shaking her head, and her girlfriend looked up at her guiltily and reached for another.
“Hey! You’ll ruin your appetite,” Emma gave her knuckles a proper thwack this time, and Claire laughed, reaching over and tickling Emma’s side. Emma giggled and squirmed away, grabbing the chocolates and taking them with her. “Claire! I booked us a nice dinner! You can’t eat them all now!”
“Fine,” Claire whined, but she was grinning. “Should we head to this dinner?”
“We should,” Emma said. “You can open the card when we get back.”
Claire slipped on her black ballet flats and her trusty leather jacket, patting the pocket to check Emma’s gift was still inside. It seemed stupid now, after seeing all the effort Emma had gone to for her. She could just slip it into the bin and tell Emma she forgot...but no, she quite clearly hadn’t forgotten, so she’d just have to suck it up and give Em the dumb gift later.
The two women walked arm-in-arm down the street, making their way through the Wichita streets until they came across the boulevard, the place in town where all the best restaurants, cafes, bakeries and places were. It was full to the brim with eateries and bars, fairy lights strung everywhere, little hanging jars with tea lights burning in them, the kind of relaxed atmosphere Emma had thought would be perfect. She approached the hostess of the little restaurant she had chosen for the two of them, giving the name Novak, and followed as she and Claire were directed to a table outside. It was small, just big enough for the two of them, made of polished hardwood and with matching little benchlike seats. They sat across from each other, Claire on the left, Emma on the right, and Claire looked around, taking in the scenery. They were in a wide courtyard filled with other tables, not all full yet, but there were many happy couples and families around them. There were strings of lights running above them, giving everything a soft, warm glow, and beneath their feet was the familiar, too-stiff feeling of fake grass, but the illusion it gave off was lovely. She grabbed the drinks menu and skimmed it, and, feeling cheeky, ordered Emma a cocktail, even though they’d yet to find an alcohol that Emma could actually get drunk on. For herself, she ordered a margarita, and was delighted when the waitress returned with their drinks served in mason jars.
“This place is kinda fancy,” Claire remarked, stealing one of the cherries floating in Emma’s drink and biting it off the stem, winking at her girlfriend. Emma blushed and took a sip of her drink, her nose twitching to the side in the way it did when she found something to be a little strange in flavour. “What’d I order you, anyway?”
“A cherry bourbon smash,” Emma replied. “It tastes the way Dean smelt at Christmas.”
Claire roared with laughter at that, unable to help herself. Emma laughed, too, and Claire had to remind herself she couldn’t just reach across the table and start making out with her in public. They composed themselves and started reading the menu, and Claire felt her anxiety rising, because this place was fancy, and the food wasn’t cheap, but Emma seemed to read her mind, because she looked up and said “Don’t worry about it, Claire,” so Claire told herself not to worry about it.
She thought of her gift, sitting in the pocket of her jacket, and winced. Yeah, it was way too stupid. Emma was so thoughtful and perfect, and all she’d managed was to grab something out of the bargain bin from a dollar store, and a card that, while lovely, didn’t have anything more than Dear Emma, I love you always. Claire.
After they’d ordered, Emma leaned back in her chair, smiling at Claire. “Did you get me anything?” she asked, her tone teasing, but Claire felt heat rising on the back of her neck. She did, but she didn’t want to give it to Emma. She shrugged and looked away.
“It’s okay if you didn’t,” Emma said quietly, suddenly somber, and Claire looked up in alarm.
“No, no, I did, it’s just...it’s really dumb, and you went to so much trouble.”
“Claire,” Emma held out her hand. Claire placed hers in it, and Emma intertwined their fingers with a gentle squeeze. It was a little gesture of comfort she did when she was nervous, and Claire sighed, because she was nervous, too. “Nothing you could get me would be dumb.”
“Okay,” Claire replied, letting go of Emma’s hand to reach into her jacket pocket and dig around inside, comforted by the soft leather in her hands. Her fingers closed around the card and the gift and she tugged them free, handing them over with a sheepish grin. Emma opened the card first, and smiled at the message written inside, reaching for her hand again. Claire knew her card at home would practically have an essay written inside. Emma had a way with words Claire did not.
The gift was stupid. It was a booklet of vouchers, and each one said something dumb, like redeemable for one hug, or exchange me for a kiss! It was full of things like that, vouchers for back massages, cuddles, movie nights, dinners, there was even one for doing the laundry. Claire had grabbed it on her way home yesterday because it had made her laugh, but she didn’t think Emma would go all out for the day, considering last year they’d just gotten a box of chocolate and cuddled on the couch. But Emma poured over the booklet, reading through the vouchers, giggling at some, smirking at others, and she looked up at Claire with the biggest grin on her face Claire couldn’t help but grin too.
“I love it, Claire. Really. Thank you,” Emma told her, still thumbing through the booklet.
“Really?”
“Really,” Emma said. “In fact, there’s one I want to redeem as soon as we get home.”
“Yeah?” Claire said. “Which one is that?”
Emma smirked, tearing it out of the booklet and handing it to Claire with a wink.
Redeemable for one night together.
“I think I can manage that,” Claire gave her a wicked grin.