Tina never really bought into the idea of Valentines Day. Too sappy, too forced, too commercialized. A made-up holiday. A marketing scheme that sold millions of dollars of cards and flowers and chocolate. Being told to schedule a day for showing your beloved that you love them was silly in her mind, unnecessary.

But this year, this Valentines, she was definitely caught up in the moment, swept away in the tide of romance, so in love with Bette that she didn’t care if it was foolish.

She even found herself doodling hearts on her legal pad during a staff meeting for fucks sake. Writing her name out in the margins. Christina Kennard Porter. God, it was heavenly. She promised to woo the heck out of Bette Porter when she came back at Thanksgiving and she would keep that promise for the rest of their lives. Even if it meant candy hearts and mushy cards and forced flower purchases.

Being back with Bette brought such sweet joy, such unbridled happiness that half the time she felt like she was wandering around with her head in the clouds and the other half with a permanent smile on her face. Normally organized, she was having a hard time finding things, keeping track of her place in scripts and often smiling at nothing in particular. But she had laser focus when it came to Bette, the brunette always on her mind. She felt like she was sixteen again, and it was glorious.

They were different together this time, this she knew. They talked about everything, Bette opening up in ways she never had before. It was more of an intentional love, thoughtful and considerate, neither overpowering the other, equals in the relationship.

James noticed a change in Bette too, she was softer, laughed more and took longer lunches, much longer. Sometimes not coming back at all. It impacted her work, but in a good way, donors and artists lining up to donate and show for the Gallery, her happiness spreading to all those around her. This morning he had actually caught her dancing in the kitchen area while she waited for her expresso.

“Are you… dancing… Bette?” He had asked before he could stop himself, winching a little as he waited for her retort.