One day, it occurs to Abby that it's always all about her. Brody's always going to a great deal of effort to please her, to make sure she's happy - but she's not all that clear on what it is that he likes – apart from her that is.
She knows he's dependable, loyal and trustworthy. She knows he's smart and funny. She knows what he likes in bed – and out of bed …
What she doesn't know is how he takes his coffee, whether he even drinks coffee, what his favourite food is ... what his favourite movies are ...
"Geez Abby, do we have to have this conversation?" Richie demands as she grills him about it while they're throwing a football back and forth. "I don't want to always be piggy in the middle - what does Abby like? What does Brody like?" he mimics, pulling an exaggerated face.
"Richie - humour me, ok?" she tells him witheringly and he sighs.
Much as he likes and admires Brody - would give his life for his partner - sometimes he still wishes that Abby had chosen Danny. Danny the lawyer. Danny who wouldn't be out on the streets with him day after day, hour after hour - the guy he has to try his damndest to forget is involved with his baby sister.
He doesn't want to be the repository of wisdom, the agony aunt, the go-to guy whenever they have a dispute, but here he is, answering Abby's questions with a long-suffering expression on his face.
Much as it pains him to deal with this 'relationship' stuff, he can see how happy Abby is these days... he knows how devoted Brody is to her and he can't begrudge his sister her happiness. He just wishes that they'd leave him out of it.
The key turns in the lock and the front door slides open. Brody steps in, sniffing the air appreciatively. There are all sorts of good smells in the air ... spaghetti, chocolate ...
"What's going on?" he asks of Abby who is standing at the kitchen bench, a wooden spoon in hand and wearing nothing except a Blackhawks jersey.
"Baking, cooking," she tells him airily as he removes his jacket and his kevlar to come over and press a kiss to the back of her neck. She smiles and tilts her head back, her mouth seeking out his and the kiss is warm and lingering.
"Spaghetti - my favourite," he announces. Then he glances over at the cooling tray at the array of elaborate-looking chocolate cookies, topped with melted chocolate and marshmallow. "Chocolate cookies - also my favourite," he remarks, looking quizzically. "And my favourite hockey team," he comments, noting her jersey for the first time. "If Richie said today was my birthday, he's lying," he tells her with a crooked smile and she shakes her head setting down the wooden spoon and moving into his arms.
His arms tighten around her as his mouth comes down on hers hungrily. When she finally comes up for air, her mouth is red and swollen, damp and sensual. "Just decided it was my turn to try to make you happy," she tells him and he shakes his head with a smile.
"You already make me happy, Abby ... just by being you," he tells her, resting his forehead against hers. "For choosing me ..."
"There was no choice." She means it.