Santana took off her coat and shoes after she closed the door of the house, her lips curving into a smile when she heard a soft hum. She walked into the living room and spotted Brittany in the kitchen, her hips swaying lightly in front of the stove.

"Welcome home, baby," Brittany greeted.

Santana bit her lip and walked toward her, quickly encircling her waist from behind. "Hi," she murmured.

Without her shoes, she was a bit too short to properly nuzzle Brittany's neck with her nose, so she settled for a quick kiss on her shoulder. "You look pretty," she added.

Brittany chuckled. "My hair is dirty, and my apron has splotches of food all over. How does that translate to pretty?"

Santana grinned, "Well, I happen to love dirty women."

Brittany turned around in the chef's arms, smiling amusedly. "Is that so?"

"Mhm, it sure is."

Santana winked before capturing her lips in a tender kiss. When she heard a small bubbling in the saucepan and tried peeking at it, Brittany abruptly pushed her away. "Oh baby, don't look."

Santana's face scrunched up in confusion. "Why? What's happening?"

Brittany swallowed nervously. "You should take a shower. You're all sweaty."

"Jeez," Santana gasped exaggeratedly, "way to spare my feelings."

"Sorry, sweetheart," Brittany pouted. Santana knew that look; it was mischievous, kooky, and secretive all rolled into one. It definitely caught her attention, and a shower did sound amazing right about now.

"Okay, well...do you want to join me?" she asked hopefully.

Brittany shook her head, which made Santana frown. What was going on? Feeling slightly dejected, she turned around and made her way toward the stairs.

"Hey, cute-butt," Brittany called after her.

Santana turned her head and couldn't help but smile when she noticed the blonde looking at her with a grin and playful eyes. "I love you," she said, and that was all it took for Santana's heart to feel warm all over again.

"Love you too," she replied before walking up the stairs, goofy smile in place. It had been almost four years since they'd gotten back together, and she still got those silly flutters in her stomach whenever Brittany was near. More than anything, and this was something she seldom admitted, Santana loved how domestic they were. It was simple, really, but just folding clothes with her girlfri—no, her wife—as they discussed everyday matters had her feeling completely at ease and relaxed.

Anxiety was still something she struggled with occasionally, especially since Adjacent was booming and she now had to deal with a larger staff, but Santana's nerves had definitely eased. A couple months after they'd moved in together, Brittany had suggested that they take yoga classes together, noticing that the chef had still been snapping the rubber band on her wrist now and then. It'd taken a while, but Santana had eventually dumped the horrid habit. This was, of course, only one of the perks of living with Brittany.

Living together was completely different this time around. The first time had been chaotic at best; they had rushed into it, because Santana had been struggling to pay rent, and Brittany had offered on a whim. Of course, they'd been stupidly happy at first, but little by little, they'd realized they hadn't been ready for that step, and their relationship had suffered. Now, however, Santana was certain she had never been happier. After a full year of better communication, incredible dates, countless kisses, days filled with sweet texts, and nights spent alternately at each other's homes, Santana had moved back into Brittany's house for good.

Since then, it had been three wonderful years—years full of affection, laughs, handholds, teasing glances, Friday night dates, gifts, movie nights, breakfasts in bed, sex, love, and, more recently, the wedding of a lifetime. It had been a small affair, but Santana could still remember how stunning Brittany had been that day.

She knew, of course, that her wife was a knockout wearing the simplest of clothes, but that day...Santana wondered how she hadn't fainted. Brittany had worn a gorgeous white dress that fit her slim figure like a glove and accentuated her beautiful curves. Her hair had been intricately done, yet simple at the same time, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Santana remembered it all: the way Brittany's fingers had brushed against the fabric of her dress, the way she'd scrunched her nose with a wide grin on her face when Santana had whisked away a blonde strand of hair that had fallen loose on her nose, the silver flower brooch clipped in her hair, its shining petals wide but small, right next to her ear and peeking from under her white veil.

She'd been a vision, and the deep yet clear blue of her eyes had sparkled with so much love that Santana had started crying tears of happiness right then. She denied it anytime someone teased her about it—Kurt and Holly being the first to do so—but deep down, she couldn't care less what others thought.

They'd been married for four months now, and Santana was so full of love, she sometimes feared she was in the most realistic dream of her life. Waking up next to, on top of, or underneath Brittany was always something she treasured. Her kisses still made her knees weak, and her hands on her body still made her toes curl. She hoped it would never stop.

Of course, it would be a lie to say they never fought or that Santana never slept on the couch, but they worked hard to make their relationship work. Their communication skills, though not perfect, had improved dramatically, and sex was always off the table whenever they had issues to discuss. They both remembered how orgasms had once been a shallow way to fix their problems and how that had actually made every small issue so much worse in the long run. Of course, that wasn't to say there was no...gratifying reward once they did communicate and resolve their arguments.

Their relationship had its irritating flaws—like Santana forgetting to take the trash out or Brittany leaving the lights on—but at the end of the day, those didn't matter much. They were in each other's arms, snuggling beneath warm blankets and dreaming of their future together.

As she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, Santana smiled to herself. She was exhausted, but thankfully, it was Friday, which meant she had the whole weekend to replenish and laze around with her wife—speaking of whom, she wondered what Brittany was up to downstairs. Fridays were always date night, which meant they either went out or already had their clothes off by now. With a smirk, she decided she'd have to get the latter plan in motion as fast as possible. Brittany in an apron always got her going, and it had been a long day without her sweet wifey kisses.