By the time Chris and Denise returned home from their skydiving trip, her film had been seen by the first group of film critics, press members, and regular audiences. Their reviews and reactions had been released into the World Wide Web, either on the site of the journals they were working for, or on popular social media platforms such as Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr. All of Denise's platforms were blowing up with notifications, everyone was buzzing about her Hollywood debut. And thanks to the dedication of Chris' fans who felt obligated to mention him in all relating posts, he was drowning in Twitter notifications. It took a little deliberation before they dove into reading. It was still her birthday after all and he didn't want harsh critics or internet trolls to ruin it for her with their bad reviews and hateful comments.

"What was the first thing you said to me after you watched my movie?"

Chris had been the first person to watch the finished product, upon the director's request. Her production team made her a copy which she then passed onto her husband to watch; a yellow legal pad as his only company. Denise's only request before she left Chris to watch her film was "don't watch it as my husband, watch it as an actor and a fellow director." As good as it would've felt to hear what he thought as her husband, she wanted his honest and unbiased review. It was the only way she was going to know if she had a shot in the industry. Because if the one person she trusted and admired the most couldn't even offer her that, she knew she had no chance at succeeding, let alone surviving in the Hollywood industry.

"'I have chosen the movie for our next movie night,'" he promptly answered and she laughed. He knew she was talking about what he'd said after that first sentence, but he liked how she laughed every time he repeated that. "'If that is your debut into Hollywood, I was right when I said you're going to go on to do amazing things.'" He recited what he'd said, word for word; she smiled. "And you're going to be okay because of that?"

"I'm going to be okay because of you," she corrected.

And she was.

Majority of what they found on social media platforms were positive reactions. They all showed a great appreciation for the movie she'd made, as well as a deeper understanding of why Chris Evans fell in-love and married her. Chris easily agreed with everything they were reading, including "it seems like he's the lucky one in their relationship." Then, of course, they stumbled upon the section of negative comments and hateful claims. The most common ones included: "She obviously got the job because of her husband," "definitely wouldn't pay to see it again," and "stop rubbing your perfect fucking life in our faces." The first one they felt had been played out, the second wasn't unheard of with most films, and the last one was really more funny than hurtful.

The professional reviews had a mixture of positive and negative reactions, much like what they'd found on social media. But still, Denise was okay. There was no point in getting mad about, or crying over what they had to say. They were professionals, their job was to review movies. Even if they were occasionally meaner than they had to be, they knew what they were talking about. The best, and really only thing she should do was to take everything on as constructive criticism to better her next attempt at filmmaking. She was already so incredibly happy with the amount of good reviews and positive reactions she'd received that the bad reviews and negative reactions couldn't shake her even if they tried.

Other than social media notifications and online reviews, Chris and Denise's phones were also blowing up with congratulatory phone calls and texts from family and friends that had also read the reviews. Everyone displayed their excitement for the private viewing party they were planning to host soon, as well as their pride for what Denise had done. Chris' old cast mates from Marvel, and all the other friends he had in Hollywood that she'd befriended too- all took to their social media, congratulating her, while helping her promote her movie; a great act of faith as many of them were yet to see it. Denise noted all of them down so she could call them and personally thank them for their support.

It was 3:14AM when fatigue finally washed over Denise, she was powering her devices down when Chris poked his head into their bedroom. She was so busy answering phone calls and replying to all her texts that she didn't notice he'd been downstairs for the past hour. "Hey," he smiled at her and she smiled back before letting another yawn escape. "I know you're exhausted and ready for bed, but could I borrow you quickly?"

"Yeah," she nodded, pushing the covers off her legs. "What's up?" She asked mid-yawn as he walked over to offer his hand. "God, I am so tired." He pulled her onto her feet then wrapped an arm around her, steering her out their bedroom door. "I'm actually really glad you got Donovan to watch Jack and Dodger because I need to sleep-in tomorrow."

"You and me both, kid."

They walked down their staircase, side by side. "Do you remember the days when I'd ask you to stop calling me 'kid'?" She quizzed and he nodded, chuckling. "Well, I give up. Call me 'kid' all you'd like, I mean- I'm only twenty-four, I'm not really a proper adult compared to you. My family treats me like I'm still a teenager, they're still shock every time they see me carrying Jack." she chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. "So why not you too?"

"Why not, right?" He teased and she giggled, gently elbowing him in the rib. "So..." He began when they approached the final step of the staircase. "I know it's not technically your birthday anymore. But," he paused, waiting for Denise to lift her head and spot the set up he had in their living room: rose petals scattered, tea light candles lit, 'Perfect' playing in the background, and a simply decorated chocolate cake. She smiled, immediately tearing up. "You didn't get cake and you deserve cake."

"Chris," she lovingly sighed his name.

"It's nothing," he kissed the top of her head.

His hand rested on the small of her back as they made their way over to the living room. They sat on the rug on the floor, backs against the couch. Chris picked her present off the table: a medium sized box, wrapped in glittery black wrapping paper and tied with a gold ribbon. "If you don't mind, I'd like you to open this before we eat cake." He placed it in her lap and she began to carefully unwrap it, starting with the removal of the pretty ribbon. "You've also got a few other presents sitting in the guest room waiting to be opened that are from our family and friends."

"Didn't I tell everyone not to worry about getting me a present this year?"

"Just because you didn't want to celebrate doesn't mean we didn't want to celebrate."

"This better be a small gift," she chided playfully, peeling the tape instead of ripping the paper.

"You got me an expensive watch," he chuckled, "you do not get to put a price limit on my gift."

She tried not to smile as she attempted to give him the stink-eye, cracking when he poked her cheek. "What is this, why is it so heavy?" She asked as she pulled the brown cardboard box from the hug of the wrapping paper. "There's no label on the box, why?" She turned to him and he shrugged as if he didn't know. "You're the worst," she laughed.

"You're the worst," he retorted, chuckling. "Just open the box and you'll find out."

She did as he instructed, jaw dropping when she lifted the lid. Inside the box sat a typewriter; a Royal Quiet De Luxe typewriter that he had someone refurbished in gold. He'd tried searching for an original gold-plated Royal, but it was an impossible mission when The Royal Typewriter Company only produced a limited quantity of the gold-plated version. Even if he'd been incredibly fortunate to find one, he knew he'd only upset Denise with the amount he had to pay for it so he opted for a refurbishment instead. After all it was the concept behind the golden typewriter that made his gift significant, not the model number.

There were three reasons he'd chosen to give her a golden typewriter. Reason number one: A typewriter was a piece she'd wanted for a while now, she said it made her feel like a proper writer when she felt the keys under her fingertips. Reason number two: A gold Royal Quiet De Luxe typewriter was made famous by Ian Fleming, a man known for his writing capabilities. He produced the James Bond series and was ranked 14th in 2008 by The Times on its list of "The 50 greatest British Writers since 1945". And on the typewriter, he wrote a short letter to his beloved hoping it produced words of gold. Which led to Chris' third reason; one he had written on the card that sat at the bottom of the box.

Denise turned to Chris, unable to close her mouth from the amazement she felt. "Chris," she gasped as she carefully lifted it from the box. "This is the coolest thing- Oh my God." Chris carefully slid the cake a little towards the back of the table so Denise could have space to set her typewriter down. "It's beautiful, thank you."

"Read the card," he beckoned his head at the box.

She lifted the lid of the box again, lifting the black card with gold calligraphy writing that said: "To remind you that you write from a place of pure gold." She chuckled, wiping the tears that had formed in the corner of her eyes. "I love you," she turned to him, smiling.

"I love you too," he smiled and met her lips.