Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~6 min read
It was 2 AM, and neither of them could sleep.
They’d tried. Bash had gone back to his apartment around midnight. But an hour later, Ivy’s phone buzzed.
Bash: Awake?
Ivy: Always. You?
Bash: Can I come back?
Ivy: Please.
He showed up five minutes later in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair disheveled, looking vulnerable and beautiful.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said.
“Me neither.”
They made tea and sat on her couch, wrapped in blankets.
“I keep thinking,” Bash said, “about what you said earlier. About me showing up.”
“What about it?”
“No one’s ever relied on me before. Not like that. My mother did, but I was a kid—I failed her. She worked herself to death while I was in culinary school, chasing my dreams.”
Ivy’s heart ached. “Bash, that’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it? She sacrificed everything for me. And I wasn’t there when—” His voice broke. “I was at an internship. Learning to make fucking consommé while she was dying alone.”
“You didn’t know—”
“I should have known. Should have noticed she was getting sicker. Should have come home instead of chasing Michelin stars and approval from chefs who didn’t give a damn about me.”
Ivy set down her tea and took his hands. “Listen to me. Your mother chose to support your dreams. That was her choice. Her love. You didn’t fail her. You honored her by becoming an incredible chef. By building something beautiful. By being exactly who she raised you to be.”
“I’m terrified of making the same mistakes,” Bash said. “Working too much. Obsessing over success. Missing the important things while I chase validation.”
“Then don’t,” Ivy said simply. “You’re aware of it now. You can make different choices.”
“What if I can’t? What if I’m just like her—driven and obsessive and incapable of stopping?”
“Then I’ll make you stop. I’ll drag you out of that kitchen if I have to. I’ll remind you that life exists outside of work. That’s what I’m here for.”
Bash looked at her with such raw emotion it took her breath away. “Why? Why do you love me? I’m damaged and difficult and—”
“Because you’re real,” Ivy interrupted. “Because you see me. Because when everyone else told me I was too soft for this industry, you told me softness was my strength. Because you show up at 2 AM to help with panic attacks. Because you gave me your mother’s sourdough starter and her recipes and pieces of yourself I don’t think you’ve shared with anyone else.”
“Ivy—”
“I love you because you’re grumpy and particular and you scrub your kitchen at 3 AM when you can’t sleep. Because you pretend not to care but you care so much it hurts you. Because you made me believe I deserved this—success and love and a partner who sees me as an equal.”
“You are my equal,” Bash said fiercely. “More than equal. You’re better than me in every way that matters.”
“That’s not true—”
“It is. You’re brave. Openly emotional. You build people up instead of tearing them down. You create joy everywhere you go. I’ve spent years being angry and bitter, and you walked in with terrible music and sunshine and just… changed everything.”
They were both crying now.
“I need to tell you something,” Bash said. “Something I’ve never told anyone.”
“Okay.”
“The night my mother died, I made a promise to myself. That I’d never let anyone close enough to hurt me like that again. That I’d focus on work and achievement and keep everyone at arm’s length. And I stuck to that. For years. Built walls so high nobody could climb them.”
“What changed?”
“You,” he said simply. “You knocked them down without even trying. And it terrified me. Still terrifies me. Because loving you means risking that pain again. Means opening myself up to loss.”
Ivy wiped her eyes. “Bash, I can’t promise I’ll never hurt you. I can’t promise I’ll never leave—life is unpredictable. But I can promise that every single day I’m here, I’ll choose you. I’ll show up. I’ll love you as hard as I can.”
“That’s all I need,” he whispered.
“And I need the same from you. I need you to keep choosing me, even when it’s scary. Even when you want to push me away. Even when your brain tells you you’re not good enough.”
“I can do that.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
They sat there on her couch, holding each other, and Ivy felt something click into place. This was it. The real confession. Not the surface-level “I love you” but the deep, scary truth underneath. The wounds and fears and broken pieces they were trusting each other with.
“Tell me about your parents,” Bash said. “Your real parents. You never talk about them.”
Ivy took a shaky breath. “There’s not much to tell. They left me at a fire station when I was two. No note. No explanation. Just… gone.”
“Ivy—”
“I spent my whole childhood wondering why. What was wrong with me that they didn’t want me. Why I wasn’t worth keeping.” Her voice broke. “And I carried that into adulthood. Into every relationship. Every job. This constant fear that people would see the real me and decide I wasn’t worth the effort.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Bash said fiercely.
“Logically, I know that. But the little kid in me still wonders. Still waits for people to leave.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You tried to push me away three weeks ago.”
He winced. “I did. And I’m sorry. But I’m not leaving, Ivy. I’m choosing you. Every day. Even when I’m scared. Especially when I’m scared.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“Good.”
They talked until dawn. About everything. Bash’s childhood with a single mother who worked too hard. Ivy’s time in foster care, the good homes and the bad ones. Their first restaurants. Their worst kitchen experiences. Their dreams for the future.
“I want kids someday,” Ivy admitted. “Is that crazy? We’ve only been together a few months—”
“I want that too,” Bash said. “Not now. But someday. With you.”
“Really?”
“Really. I want the whole thing. Marriage. Kids. Growing old together. Building something that lasts.”
“That’s a lot of pressure—”
“It’s not pressure. It’s hope.” He kissed her softly. “You make me hope for things I never thought I’d have.”
“You do the same for me.”
The sun rose over Willowbrook, painting the sky pink and gold. They watched it through her window, wrapped in each other, and Ivy thought: This is what love looks like. Not perfect. Not easy. But real and raw and worth everything.
“We’re going to be okay,” she said.
“Yeah,” Bash agreed. “We really are.”
And for the first time in a long time, they both believed it.
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