"You go first," he murmurs, giving me a gentle push. "I'll be right behind you."
I step into the doorway and lean against the frame in what I hope looks casual, though my pulse is loud enough in my ears that I half expect the kids to hear it. For a moment, Morgan continues reading, unaware of our presence. Then one of the kids points in our direction.
"Teacher Morgan, there's mans!"
Morgan's head snaps up, her eyes widening as they land on me. The book slips from her fingers, thumping softly on the carpet.
"Trent?" she whispers, her voice breaking on my name. Her gaze shifts past me. "Matt?"
She's on her feet in a rush, her knuckles pressed to her lips as if to hold in a sound, her eyes wide and shining. The children look between us, their faces puckered in confusion. Morgan just stands there, frozen, her professional smile completely gone.
"Surprise, gorgeous," I say, grinning so hard my face hurts. "Miss us?"
A strangled sound escapes her throat, half laugh, half sob, before she composes herself enough to address her class.
"Children, these are my… my very special friends who've been away for a long time. Can we all say hello to Mr. Trenton and Mr. Matthew?"
A chorus of "Hello!" rings out, some shy, some enthusiastic. One bold little girl with pigtails stands up and walks right up to Matthew, examining the flowers with open curiosity.
"Are those for Teacher Morgan?" she asks, looking up at him with solemn eyes.
Matthew kneels down to her level, handling the transition from combat operative to kid-friendly civilian with the same adaptability that made him such a good SEAL. "They sure are. Do you think she'll like them?"
The girl nods emphatically. "Yellow's her favorite. She told us."
Morgan makes a choked sound, her professional veneer cracking further. I can see her struggling, wanting to throw herself at us but mindful of the room full of preschoolers watching with rapt attention.
Salvation arrives in the form of a middle-aged woman who appears in the doorway behind us, taking in the scene with knowing eyes.
"Morgan," she says gently, "why don't you take your break now? I can cover your class for a bit."
Morgan looks at her with naked gratitude. "Are you sure, Ms. Davis? I wasn't scheduled for another hour…"
"I think this qualifies as a special circumstance," the woman says with a warm smile, already moving to take Morgan's place on the reading rug. "Take your time."
Morgan doesn't need to be told twice. She crosses the room in quick steps, pausing only to accept the sunflowers from Matthew, before leading us out the door and down the hall to what appears to be a small staff lounge.
The moment the door closes behind us, she drops the flowers on a nearby table and launches herself at both of us, one arm around each of our necks, pulling us down to her level. She smells like strawberry shampoo and finger paint and home.
"You're here," she whispers, voice thick with tears. "You're really here. How? Why? You weren't supposed to be back for three more weeks!"
I press my face into her hair, breathing her in, feeling the tension of six months' separation finally melt away. "Pulled some strings," I murmur, not ready to reveal the full surprise yet. "Couldn't wait any longer."
Matthew's arm wraps around both of us, and for a moment none of us says anything, the three of us just breathing together in the small staff lounge like we used to when we were younger.
"Let me look at you," Morgan demands, pulling back just enough to run her hands over our faces, our shoulders, as if confirming we're real and whole. Her eyes catalog every detail, lingering on the new scar along Matthew's jawline, the slight tan that darkens my skin. "Are you okay? Both of you?"
"We're perfect now," Matthew assures her, his voice rough with emotion as he cups her face in his hands. "Absolutely perfect."
I watch as he kisses her, gentle at first, then deepening as she responds with six months of pent-up longing. The sight doesn't inspire jealousy, never has. If anything, watching her finally get this feels like something I'd been quietly rooting for without admitting I was.
When they part, Morgan turns to me, eyes dark with the same need. "Don't think you're getting away without a proper hello," she warns, fisting her hand in my shirt to pull me down.
I go willingly, meeting her halfway, pouring everything I can't yet say into the kiss. She tastes like coffee and mint and Morgan, and I could drown in it happily.
"God, I've missed you," she breathes against my lips. "Both of you." She pulls back slightly, looking between us with growing suspicion. "Not that I'm complaining, but what's really going on? You two have that look."
"What look?" Matthew asks, failing miserably at innocence.