Callen had barely shut his car door before the scent of something rich and savory reached him, wafting from inside the house. He frowned, unlocking the door and stepping inside.
The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.
Nell was in the kitchen again. This time, she was standing by the stove, flipping a steak in a pan, looking completely at ease in his space. She'd changed out of her work clothes into something more comfortable—sweatpants and one of those oversized sweatshirts she always wore on long stakeouts.
She turned at the sound of the door, flashing him a smile. "Hey, you're home."
Callen blinked, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that this was what he was coming home to.
"You're cooking again?" he asked, stepping forward.
"Well, yeah," Nell said as if it were obvious. "You barely had time to eat at work today, and you're letting me stay here, so I figured it was the least I could do."
Callen glanced at the stove, taking in the perfectly seared steaks, the garlic butter melting into the pan, the mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables on the counter.
He shook his head, a little floored. "You really didn't have to do all this."
Nell just smirked. "Too late now. Plates are already set."
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he moved to grab drinks.
Dinner was good—really good—and the conversation flowed easily.
They talked about work, the latest case, even the book they'd started reading together the night before. And inevitably, they started laughing about just how much their teammates seemed to love speculating about her staying here.
"I swear, they act like I've been dropped into some survival challenge," Nell joked. "Like, 'Will Nell make it out alive, or will Callen's nocturnal tendencies drive her insane?'"
Callen chuckled. "You know Deeks is probably taking bets on whether you'll last all five nights."
"Oh, definitely," Nell agreed. "I should mess with them and pretend I've got Stockholm Syndrome. Just start talking about how the empty shelves really bring me peace and how cold coffee at 3 a.m. is actually an underrated experience."
Callen smirked. "Sam would stage an intervention."
Nell grinned, shaking her head before taking the last sip of her wine.
As the plates were cleared, Callen hesitated for a beat before glancing over at her. "You wanna keep going with the book?"
Nell's eyes lit up. "Yeah, definitely."
A pause.
Then Callen, without really thinking about it, said, "You can sit closer, if you want."
He saw the moment she registered the unspoken invitation.
Nell's brows lifted slightly, her lips parting in surprise—but then, after a beat, she simply nodded. "Okay."
He sat down on the couch first, and after only a moment's hesitation, Nell settled next to him. Closer.
Close enough that when he picked up the book and started reading, he could feel her warmth beside him.
After a chapter, Nell nudged him lightly. "My turn."
Callen hesitated but passed her the book, leaning back as she picked up where he left off.
Her voice was different from his—softer, but still confident. He found himself watching her as she read, taking in the way she shifted her expressions to match the tone of the passage, how she curled her legs beneath her, fully at ease.
When she finished the chapter, she glanced over at him. "Your turn."
They went back and forth like that for a while, alternating chapters, getting lost in the rhythm of it.
And for the first time in a long time, Callen wasn't thinking about the case, or work, or anything else.
Just the way Nell felt right there next to him.