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“Vibe.”

Aaaaand that’s all my questions, your honor.

Bella shrugs and glances around the room, nodding to herself. “Yep, by vibe,” she says matter-of-factly.

“You did that after you finished making⁠—”

“Oh, I didn’t finish the boba.” She shrugs. “Just…I dunno. Quick side quest?”

Jesus.

I don’t say anything because A, my wife is holding four lethal weapons in her arms, B, standing in a room full of more lethal weapons, and C, I don’t have a death wish.

Still, I see her spot the unspoken words on my face.

“Have you seriously never picked up on the fact that I have a touch of ADHD?”

“A touch?” I smile at her.

“Careful,” she mutters, shooting me a glare.

I grin. “So, when you’re done with…the vibes…” I gesture broadly at the living room. “Will you be⁠—”

“Obviously I'm going to clean it all up!” she grins.

Yeah.

Obviously.

I’m fucking crazy about this girl. Like, full-blown cringe, dipshit, pussy-whipped crazy for her.

But Jesus fucking Christ, the messes she leaves might legit give me an aneurism. Small stuff, fine: I appreciate that my neat-freak standards are, frankly, psycho, and that my need for control and order is pathological.

But shit like this is going to kill me.

“You’re angry.”

Bella has a slightly dramatized but very real pout on her face when I glance back at her.

“No, I’m⁠—”

“Liar.”

I grin as I walk over to her, carefully pluck the various weapons from her hands, and then pull her into my embrace, cupping her cheek.

“I’m not angry.” I shake my head. “I’m just slowly accepting the fact that the woman I’m kind of head over heels for is a beautiful, captivating, incredibly fucking sexy⁠—”

“This is great stuff, keep going⁠—”

“Disaster zone.”

She pouts again, giving me a glare before I chuckle and lean down to kiss her.

“Seriously, it’s refreshing,” I say. “I mean, to someone like me with my⁠—”

“Anal-retentive, controlling, neat-freak tendencies?”

“Yeah. That.”