Jora gave a mock swoon as he claimed he could "deal with" being called cute, pressing a hand to her chest and gasping. “Oh, how lucky I am to have such a tolerant man,” she drawled with a smirk, clearly unbothered by his teasing.

She let out a quiet laugh as he claimed being boring would be worse, nodding in agreement. “Mmm. That’s fair. You’ve got just enough flair to keep things interesting without being completely insufferable,” she said, tone teasing but fond. And it was true—Sage’s little dramatics, his flair for the over-the-top, his blushes and sharp wit… it all made up the man she loved. The one who’d somehow found her in all the chaos of the world and stayed.

Her grin only grew as he laughed, the sound one she’d grown so used to craving. “I love the parts that are bratty,” she corrected, lifting her chin just a bit. “But don’t push it or I’ll remind you what happens when you get too smug.” She gave him a pointed look, one that promised playful consequences later. The kind they both secretly liked.

When he brought up the diary, she let out a sharp snort. “My journal had more emotional depth than your whole crew put together,” she said, nudging him back with her shoulder. “And don’t act like you didn’t love reading the parts about you.” Her eyes glittered mischievously. “You were such a little menace back then. Always getting into trouble and dragging me with you.”

As he pouted, she grinned. “Yeah, yeah. A ‘bad day,’” she echoed, not buying it for a second. “And I don’t kiss you with sand in my mouth. You’re the one who tried to complain while kissing me,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him in mock judgment. “I ought to start brushing your teeth with seawater.”

Still, she reached out and laced her fingers with his lazily as they wandered up the sandy trail. “It’s good, though,” she said after a moment, a little softer. “The way we always end up here. With each other.” She bumped his hip lightly. “You make the sand worth it.”

Jora scoffed under her breath, though the twitch of her lips betrayed her amusement. “Boss you around? I don’t recall holding a knife to your throat when you married me,” she said dryly, though she didn’t argue as he bumped her shoulder. Instead, she leaned into the contact, warmth blooming in her chest. “You do it because you like it,” she added with a smirk. “Don’t act like you’re not into it.”

She gave him a flat look at the mention of his tongue—that tongue—and jabbed her elbow into his ribs with zero remorse. “Watch it,” she warned, though her voice held more laughter than threat. Still, when he winked, she raised a brow and simply said, “Keep talkin’. See what I do when we get inside.” There was no mistaking the playful promise in her voice.

“Oh please,” she added when he insisted her journal had diary written on the cover. “You’re lucky I didn’t drown you in the well for reading it. That was private.” She shook her head, pretending to be scandalized. “And for the record, it wasn’t a crush. I was conducting an observation. Of a stray mutt who didn’t know how to ask for help without bleeding everywhere.”

But even as she said it, her voice softened at the edges. They both knew what they’d meant to each other, even back then. Even when they hadn’t had the words for it.

“And I did ruin you,” she admitted without shame, tugging on his hand. “But don’t act like you didn’t beg for it.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically when he brought up the sand again. “If I get sand in my mouth, I’m making you sleep in the garden,” she warned. “With all the bugs.” But her voice was light, easy, full of affection. And when he opened the door for her, she gave him a crooked grin. “Thanks, gentleman.”

As she stepped inside, she glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes gleaming. “Come on then, sailor. Let’s see if that smugness of yours holds up in bed.”

(no worries! Life comes first!)

Jora let out a bark of laughter at his dramatic yelp, shaking her head as she leaned her weight into him just enough to make him stumble a step. “You keep flapping your mouth like that and I will start bossing you around with a blade in hand,” she warned, but the gleam in her eye made it clear she was enjoying every bit of their back-and-forth. “Wouldn’t even have to force you. You’d be on your knees before I said a word.”

She smirked when he admitted to liking it, satisfaction curling in her chest. She liked having power over him, but not because it made her feel stronger—it was because he chose to give it to her. Trusted her with it. That was the difference. That was what made it sacred.

Her eyes narrowed, playfully dangerous, at the wink. “Might be careful there, love. Keep poking and I might let your daughter crawl all over your face tomorrow morning. Sticky fingers and all,” she warned, nose wrinkling.

And yet—at the mention of her old journal, and that long-ago line she’d written, she flushed ever so faintly. “You were infuriatingly kissable, and I was fifteen,” she huffed. “I had hormones. Sue me.” But the smirk tugging on her lips told him just how far from offended she was.

“Bugs are your friends,” she echoed flatly. “You know what? Fine. If I find ants in the bed again, I’ll just assume you invited them.” She gave him a sharp glance. “But if one bites my ass again, I will start sleeping with a dagger under the pillow.”

As he bowed to her, she raised an unimpressed brow and clapped once. “Show-off.”

But the gleam in her eyes hadn’t dimmed.

She didn’t have to say anything more as she led him through the house, hand laced in his. The air shifted the moment the door shut behind them—quiet settling in like a promise. Jora leaned back against him slightly, turning her head just enough to glance over her shoulder.

“Still think you’re ready, sailor?” she murmured, voice soft but heavy with the weight of everything they were—fire and storm and unwavering devotion.

She smirked. “Because I’m not going easy on you tonight.”