Chapter 3: Morning Rituals

I took the initiative to postpone our honeymoon.

It wasn’t an easy decision, but it felt necessary. There was something about running off to Cancun or Napa Valley before we’d even figured out who we were to each other that felt... off.

Caleb was busy with work at his tech startup.

He’d just closed a round of funding. Every night he came home with dark circles under his eyes, phone glued to his ear, laptop balanced precariously on his knee.

And I was about to start working as a screenwriter on a new show next month.

The script pages were piling up, deadlines circling like vultures. My living room became a fortress of coffee mugs, highlighters, and Post-it notes.

But the main reason I postponed it—

Honestly? I wanted our honeymoon to mean something more than an Instagram post. I wanted it to feel real. So I held back, waiting for a little spark, something to tell me we were more than a contract.

I wanted to save it for when there was some feeling between Caleb and me, even if just a little, whether real or not.

Maybe that was naive, but it was all I had. I wanted a memory I could keep, not just another box checked off the wedding to-do list.

After marriage, Caleb and I got along surprisingly well, both in daily life and in bed.

He never left dirty dishes in the sink. He always refilled the Brita filter. He even learned to fold my favorite throw blanket the way I liked. And in bed—well, he was as attentive as he was everywhere else.

He was unexpectedly attentive in certain ways.

One morning, I woke up to find my phone fully charged and my favorite playlist queued up on the kitchen speaker. The smallest things, but somehow they meant everything.

It’s just that our use of those extra-thin condoms went from two per week to two times, one whole box each time.

The joke became a running gag between us. We’d toss the empty boxes in the trash like trophies, each one a badge of marital endurance.

The next morning,

I hobbled out of bed, my muscles protesting. My cheeks burned every time Caleb looked at me.

My legs were still trembling when Caleb picked me up so I could tie his tie for him.

He stood in front of the bedroom window, sunlight painting golden stripes on his skin. He bent down just enough for me to reach.

My mind was blank.

I fumbled with the knot, my hands unsteady. I could barely meet his gaze. My mind raced with all the things I wanted to say—how his touch made my heart skip, how scared I was that I’d mess this up.

"Caleb, from now on, on workdays, let’s..." I paused, then tactfully suggested, "Let’s not go so late, okay?"

I tried to sound casual, but my voice cracked. My cheeks were on fire.

Although I’d always craved Caleb’s body,

Every glance, every accidental brush of his hand—it was like I was sixteen again, heart thudding with secret longing.

Some things are best enjoyed in moderation.

My grandma always said, "Too much of a good thing is still too much." For once, I agreed with her.

"I’m not refusing marital intimacy. It’s just... for our health, let’s keep it to twice a week."

I tried to sound pragmatic, but the words felt weird coming out of my mouth. Like I was negotiating a gym membership, not my own marriage.

As I spoke, I secretly watched Caleb’s expression.

He looked almost amused, one eyebrow quirking up, like he was hearing a joke only I didn’t get.

My hands didn’t stop moving, and soon his tie was neatly done.

I smoothed the fabric, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse beneath my fingers.

Whenever Caleb was home, I always tied his tie for him.

It became our morning ritual. I’d stand on tiptoe, he’d duck his head, and for those few minutes, we were just husband and wife, no secrets, no pretense.

Similarly, whenever I finished washing my hair, he would dry it and care for it for me.

He always used the old t-shirt method my mom had taught me—gentle, never tugging, always patient. It was a small thing, but it made me feel cherished.

I always felt a bit embarrassed about it.

Sometimes I worried I was being childish, letting him fuss over me like that. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to stop.

But Caleb would say, "Does Natalie think my hands are clumsy? Between husband and wife, there’s no need to be so formal."

He’d ruffle my hair, teasing, “Come on, Nat, you don’t have to be so formal. It’s just us here.”

I cherished these moments, as if they were proof that Caleb loved me.

They were little islands of hope in an ocean of doubt. I collected them, turned them over in my mind when the nights got lonely.

But I knew he could never let go of his first love, his 'white moonlight.'

Rachel Monroe—always at the edge of our story, a memory I could never quite outrun.

Still, it didn’t matter. His future life would be spent with me.

Even if I only had his present, I’d take it. Some dreams, you learn to keep small.

After hearing my suggestion, Caleb raised his brows slightly.

A half-smile tugged at his lips. He looked at me with something between amusement and affection.

His sharp jaw shifted as he spoke.

He tapped his fingers against his thigh, a habit he’d picked up during late-night coding sessions.

"Sorry, I lost control last night. But Natalie, I have needs too."

His voice was light, but there was a seriousness beneath it. For once, he let me see a sliver of vulnerability.

I froze.

I felt the blush rise up my neck, my fingers going still against his shirt.

He pressed his fingertips to my sore waist and abdomen through my pajamas, gently kneading as he continued,

Every touch was deliberate, careful. He’d always been attentive to my comfort, never crossing a line.

"Last night’s meeting ran late, so we started too late. I’ll be more mindful in the future and start earlier."

He sounded like he was discussing a project timeline, not our sex life. I nearly laughed, but the look in his eyes made my heart skip.

"Natalie, were you uncomfortable yesterday? Do you need me to put some ointment on for you?" Caleb asked casually.

My face flushed instantly, and I squeezed out a word in a soft voice:

"...No."

I wanted the floor to swallow me. Even now, he could make me feel like a bashful teenager.

Caleb’s eyes darkened, and his long fingers gently pinched my chin as he leaned down.

I felt the air shift, my heart thundering in my chest.

A burning kiss fell.

He tasted like coffee and mint, the kind of kiss that leaves you dizzy for hours.

Then it became an irresistible, breath-stealing plunder.

His hands slid to my hips, pulling me closer. The world fell away, just the two of us and the sound of our breaths mingling in the morning quiet.

When my hand, guided by Caleb, touched his abs and then moved lower,

He inhaled sharply, his body tensing beneath my touch. I felt a surge of pride, knowing I could make him lose his composure, even for a second.

My breathing quickened.

I could barely think, barely remember my own name.

After a long while, Caleb spoke, his voice hoarse:

He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my lips.

"But, everything Natalie said is right."

His voice was thick with emotion, a rare crack in his usual armor.

"For our health, from now on, pick three days a week to get up early and work out with me?"

I stared at him, speechless. Was this his idea of compromise?

Me: "..."

My world collapsed.

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Only Caleb could turn this into a fitness plan.

I didn’t know if I’d ever get this close to him again. But for tonight, he was mine.