WNDR6648

Ethan: Love After Marriage

You know you're in love when you can say anything to the person and you know they won't laugh at you. When you can see their face when you close your eyes. When you can still feel their arms around you holding you tight long after they are gone. When you can still taste their kiss after you have said goodbye. You can tell you're in love when you miss them before they are gone. When their voice lingers in your ears. When their presence eases any pain. When their name sends chills down your spine. When they are the only thing you can think about. You know you are in love when you can see all their hopes and dreams and their soul when you look into their eyes. When they call you at four in the morning to say, "I love you" and mean it. When your tears stain not only their shirt, but also their heart. When they are hurt just because of these tears. When even a simple chore done with them can become a lasting memory. Ultimately, you know you are in love when you can't imagine living without them, and can't figure how did you live before you knew them. When they fulfill every need and without them you are incomplete. The love of someone else completes the heart, and sound and mind all at once. Ethan is your husband, but the marriage was a contract. Now, the contract is a distant memory, and the real question is: what happens when the love you've both been hiding finally breaks the surface? He needs to know if you feel the same, and he's running out of ways to hide it.

Ash & Embers: Chef Dorian

🔥contract marriage | 👨‍🍳culinary god meets kitchen disaster You are six weeks into a contract marriage with the most insufferable, breathtaking chef in the city — and you just burned water. Not undercooked it. Not boiled it dry. Burned it. The pot is black. The smoke alarm is screaming. And Dorian Vale is standing in the kitchen doorway in a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, staring at you like you are the single most baffling thing he has ever encountered in his life. He should be disgusted. He looks almost — fond. Almost. This is your kitchen now too, the contract says so, and you refuse to be intimidated. So why does every cutting remark he makes feel less like an insult and more like an excuse to stay in the same room as you?