With a bit of careful planning, Rick has dinner ready when Kate walks in from her shift at Starbucks on Sunday night. He had a morning shift at the bookstore, and by the time he got home, she was already at work. They'd been lucky to have most of a Saturday off together, but the majority of their days are like this; between both of their jobs and Kate's classes at the police academy, they often only see each other in the evenings.

"Hey, babe," he greets her, meeting her by the door to kiss her cheek. "How was work?"

"Fine," she answers, giving a noncommittal shrug as she pulls off her gloves, shoving them into her coat pocket. She reaches into the other pocket and pulls out a small package. "I brought coffee."

"Ah, the perks of being married to a Starbucks employee," Rick says with a grin, taking it from her hand so that she can remove her coat.

"You only love me for my coffee," she mock pouts as she kicks off her shoes. "Ahh, that's better."

"No, Kate, I love you for more than just the free coffee you bring us," Rick says, as seriously as he can muster. "I love the leftover cookies you bring home, too."

"Very funny," she answers in a deadpan tone, picking up her shoes and walking across the large room to their closet. "I'm going to change out of my khakis, then we can eat. What did you make?"

"Pancakes and eggs. Want me to start some coffee?"

"Is the Pope Catholic?"

He laughs, taking the package of coffee she brought to the kitchen area. It's a Holiday blend, and a faint peppermint aroma greets him the moment he opens the bag. He loves it when Kate brings coffee home - she's able to get a pound of whole bean coffee a week for free as a Starbucks employee, so they rarely have to buy coffee from the grocery store. It's one of their biggest blessings- it certainly helps not to have the expense of coffee factored into their weekly budget.

Rick doesn't earn freebies at the bookstore, but he does get a fairly sizeable discount on merchandise, so he comes home every so often with an armful of books for them to add to the large shelf that sits at the foot of their mattress.

Free coffee and cheap books. That's all they need to stay happy.

Well, and each other, of course.

After Rick grinds the beans, he begins to scoop them into the coffeemaker. A second later, Kate shuffles into the room, wearing an oversized NYU t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. She steps behind him as he works and wraps her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Smells good," she murmurs, watching him as he spoons the last of the grounds into the machine and shuts the lid, flipping on the percolator. Her stomach grumbles, so loudly that it resonates against his back, and he laughs.

"Go eat, babe," he says, pulling himself out of her arms. "I'll join you when the coffee's ready."

Getting some food in her belly seems to help Kate perk up, because she's more animated than usual as they eat, full of stories from her day at work. "This guy named William came in," she says between mouthfuls of pancakes. "He was wearing a suit and tie, and carrying a briefcase, and his hair was all combed back, so I just knew that he was a coffee snob. And I was right. You know what he ordered? A venti skim hazelnut macchiato, extra hot, with sugar-free syrup, an extra shot, no whip- and upside down. What the heck is an upside down coffee?"

"You tell me. You're the barista," Rick murmurs, his eyebrows raised.

"I still don't know what it is. My boss had to be the one to make it," Kate says, rolling her eyes. "But this guy just looked at me like I was an idiot when I told him I didn't know what an upside down drink was. Sorry, I'm hogging the conversation," she says with a start, looking up at him.

"No, you're not," Rick assures her. His wife generally isn't this talkative, but he's been enjoying listening to her stories. Allowing her to carry on the conversation is helping him keep his mind off of the frustrations of his day- catching some teenagers trying to shoplift, missing his lunch break as he filled out paperwork on the incident, and the stress of keeping a watchful eye on the mail, always anticipating another rejection letter.

"That's sweet, but I am. I'm done, I promise. How was your day?"

"Not bad," he says. "I got off work at one, then went to the library to write for a couple of hours."

They don't have a home computer, so Rick goes to the library a couple of days a week to type the things that he's written in his notebook throughout the week. He saves all of the files on a floppy disk, which he stores in the pocket of his notebook. It's not an ideal system, but it's the best he can do for now.

"You know, babe, when you get published, we'll spend your first royalty check on a computer," Kate says. "That way, you won't have to go to the library to write."

When you get published. Not if, but when. His wife is so confident in him, never expressing the least bit of doubt in his writing abilities, despite the fact that his manuscript has been turned down by fifteen publishing companies so far.

Kate only knows about fourteen, though. Another rejection letter was waiting on the doorstep when he arrived home today, this one from Clearhouse Publishing. He'd been so positive that he'd get in with them, considering the head of the company is the father of a good friend of his from college. Rick won't tell her about the latest rejection, though- at least not yet. She's in such a good mood tonight, and he doesn't want to ruin it for her.

"Our tree still looks pathetic," she says, interrupting his thoughts. "It needs something."

She's staring across the room at the tree, and he turns his head to follow her gaze. "I think having the picture of us with Santa on the wall right by the tree makes it perfect," he says, turning back to face her.

"It still needs something, though," she says with a sigh. "Like tinsel, or ribbon."

"I have fishing wire," he jokes, and she swats playfully at his arm before swooping his empty plate off the table, piling hers on top of it. On nights he cooks, she cleans, so she heads to the kitchen to get started. She rinses the dishes before plugging the sink and letting it fill with warm water, pouring in a bit of dish soap.

Rick's about to join her at the counter, planning to steal some of the bubbles from the sink to give himself a bubble beard, when he inspiration strikes. He heads to the kitchen cabinets instead, eyes lighting up when sees that they have everything he was hoping to find. It'll be messy, but it could be a fun way to spend the evening.

"Hey, I have an idea," he says, straightening. "I have fishing wire, and we have popcorn and a can of cranberries. You wanna make…"

"A cranberry and popcorn garland! Great idea!" she interrupts, a smile on her face as she turns off the water. "Dishes can wait. Let's do this."

She pops the popcorn and opens the can of cranberries while he pulls the fishing wire out from the miniature toolbox they keep in the cabinet under the sink and looks for a needle. Soon, they're sitting side-by-side on the floor, cross-legged, popcorn and cranberries in bowls in front of them.

"Okay, let's make a game plan," Rick says, suddenly serious. "We have a lot more popcorn than cranberries, so I think we should do four pieces of popcorn per berry. Then, if we run out, we…"

"Rick," Kate interrupts. Her eyebrows are lowered in an attempt to look stern, but her lips purse together as a smile threatens to ruin the illusion. "This isn't science. It's popcorn."

"But-"

"If I wanted exact ratios, I'd go back to Starbucks and make another dozen soy lattes with exactly two and a half pumps of vanilla syrup- no more, no less," she says, giving in to the urge to grin. "Really, my parents and I made these all the time when I was a kid, and they always turned out just fine, without a strategy. It's not like anything else on our tree is perfect, anyway."

"Very true," he laughs, passing her the needle, a long strand of fishing wire strung through it. "So what'll it be first? Popcorn? Cranberry?"

"Surprise me."

He gives her exactly four pieces of popcorn, laughing when she shoots him a glare.

They work in silence for several minutes, concentrating on not poking themselves with the sharp end of the needle in the process. It's not long before their fingers are stained a deep red from the cranberries, and Rick laughs when Kate reaches up to scratch her face, leaving a bright red spot on the tip of her nose.

"Katie the red-nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose," he begins to sing, knowing how much she hates it when he calls her that.

Sure enough, her reaction is predictable. "Hey, now. Only my father is allowed to call me that-" she pokes a finger against his nose, smiling as she colors it red- "Ricky."

He decides to go with it. "Ricky the red-nosed reindeer," he starts. To his surprise, she sings along with him, her sweet alto blending smoothly with his deep baritone. Kate's shy, self-conscious about her singing, and rarely shows off her voice, even to him. She's happy tonight, in a good mood, and she's letting her hair down, so to speak, not keeping herself as guarded as usual. And he's loving every second of it.

Six carols and lots of giggles later, they string the last piece of popcorn onto their chain. Rick ties off the end with a large knot, and together, they wrap it around the tree, weaving it carefully around the mismatched ornaments. The length of the garland fits the tree perfectly, and Kate smiles as Rick wraps the end of the chain around the uppermost branch of the tree.

"That's exactly what the tree needed," she decides. "It ties everything together so well."

Rick takes a step back and studies the tree. She's right; their new garland has helped to fill in the holes in the tree, making it look fuller. "It looks so festive."

Kate steps toward him and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into her. She waits for him to smile before she presses a gentle kiss to his lips. "I love it," she says, her voice soft. "Thank you for making that with me. And… I'm sorry about Clearhouse."

"I… how did you know?" he stutters, his eyes widening in surprise.

"I found the letter on the bathroom counter," she says. "You didn't exactly hide it."

He sighs. "Kate…"

"Hey, it's okay," she soothes, brushing an errant piece of hair off of his forehead. "So you didn't get in with Clearhouse. It's their loss, babe. And somewhere out there, there's a publishing company that will realize how amazingly talented you are and sign you on."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don't think it's going to happen," Rick murmurs. He's been trying to hide this from her all evening, pouring his energy into making her happy while pushing his feelings down, but he can't hide it any longer, allowing his shoulders to slump.

"No, don't think like that. It will happen," she assures him. "I promise. Someday soon, everyone will know the name Rick Rodgers."

"You know, I was thinking," he muses, taking a deep breath and making a decided effort to move on. She has faith in him- unrelenting, unshakeable faith- and he needs to try for her. "If I get published, what if I change my name?"

"When you get published," she corrects, leaning closer to him. "Do you mean a pseudonym?"

"No. I want to write under my real name. I don't want to be a mystery- I want people to know who I am. But Rodgers just isn't interesting enough. It doesn't have enough... mystique."

"Mystique, hmm?" Kate hums, stroking a finger across his cheek. "What are you thinking about changing it to?"

He has ideas- lots of them, in fact. He's been brainstorming for weeks now, and even has a notepad filled with potential new last names. But he's far too distracted by his wife brushing her lips against his cheek and trailing her fingers down his back to even recall just one of those at the moment.

"Mmm, Kate," he breathes, palming her hips and pulling her closer. "Haven't thought of anything good. Let's sleep on it."

"Together?" she murmurs.

"Absolutely."

He presses his lips against hers, and she pulls away after a moment, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the mattress on the floor. They falter when there's a sudden clattering on the floor, and he looks down to see that Kate accidentally kicked the popcorn bowl, sending stray kernels rolling across the wooden planks.

"Should we clean first?" she asks, nearly breathless.

His response is to cup her face in his hands and kiss her again, pulling her in until her hips bump against his.

Dishes can wait.