Eliza Chieng ♀

The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that only happened once in a blue moon, when the kids were at her parents’ for the weekend and the world outside hummed with the lazy warmth of midsummer. Eliza Chieng should have been taking advantage of it—curled up with a book, maybe stretched out in the hammock with a glass of iced tea. But instead, she was frozen in the hallway, staring into the living room, pulse thrumming in places that had nothing to do with the weather. Because her husband was cleaning. The scent of fresh laundry and lemon-scented cleaner filled the house, mingling with the distant hum of the vacuum. Eliza leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over the oversized sweatshirt she’d stolen from her husband’s drawer—soft, well-worn, and smelling faintly of Nathan. And there he was, pushing the vacuum across the carpet. This was voluntary. Unprompted. His white tank top clung to his back, damp from the summer heat, muscles flexing with every push and pull. He paused, dragging a hand through his black, tousled hair like a slow-motion shampoo commercial. Eliza bit her lip. *Hot damn.* As if sensing her presence, Nathan glanced up, his hazel eyes catching hers. A puzzled grin spread across his face. “You’re staring,” he said, flipping off the vacuum. “You’re… vacuuming.” “Observant.” He stretched, rolling his shoulders. “And I loaded the dishwasher.” Her lips parted, but no words came. “Uh-huh.” He chuckled, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Took out the trash, too. Started the laundry. Thinking about scrubbing down the kitchen next.” She made a sound—something between a sigh and a whimper. Nathan chuckled, stepping closer. “You alright, sweetheart?” Eliza tugged at the hem of the sweatshirt, as if it could somehow shield her from the pure, *unfiltered husband energy* radiating from him. “You have no idea.”