"We've got a problem." Ken's voice carried from the home office, an edge of tension breaking through his usually calm demeanor.

Toni set down her mug of tea and moved quickly down the hallway. She found Ken hunched over his laptop, Samba perched beside him on the desk, her tail swishing with apparent concern.

"What's happening in Problemport?" Toni asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Ken gestured to the screen. "The South Beach Harbor project. Their server went down last night, and they've lost access to the entire reservation system. Their phones are ringing off the hook with boaters trying to confirm moorage for the weekend."

Toni leaned in, assessing the error messages sprawled across the monitor. "Backup systems?"

"Failed. They haven't been running the nightly backups we set up." Ken ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "I told Gerald this would happen if they kept overriding the automated processes."

"So we're in rescue mode," Toni said, already pulling her chair over. "What do you need?"

Ken's fingers flew across the keyboard as he spoke. "I'm going to try to recover what I can from the database fragments. Can you call Gerald and walk him through setting up temporary manual booking procedures?"

"On it," Toni said, reaching for her phone. This was how they worked best—each stepping into their strengths during a crisis, no wasted time on blame or panic.

The next three hours disappeared into intense technical triage. Ken worked methodically through database recovery while Toni coordinated with the marina staff, setting up an interim solution to keep their operations running. Samba remained a constant presence, moving between their workstations as if supervising their progress.

"You should eat something," Toni reminded Ken, placing a sandwich beside his keyboard. It was past noon, and he hadn't moved from his screen since the crisis began.

"Thanks," he murmured absently, taking a bite without looking away from his code. "I think I've found a way to reconstruct most of the reservation data. Their system was logging transactions to a secondary file that wasn't affected by the crash."

Toni smiled despite the crisis. This was Ken at his best—focused, methodical, finding solutions where others saw only catastrophe. His logical mind broke down problems into manageable components, each one conquered in sequence until order emerged from chaos.

"Gerald's appreciative, by the way," she told him. "He mentioned something about a fishing trip as thanks once they're back on their feet."

Ken looked up at that, a small smile breaking through his concentration. "Did you tell him I get seasick on small boats?"

"I suggested a nice gift card to Luna Sea instead," Toni laughed. "Much safer for all concerned."

By late afternoon, the crisis had abated. Ken had recovered nearly all the lost data and implemented a more robust backup system, while Toni had guided the marina staff through the transition back to normal operations.

"Welcome to Victoryport," Toni said, collapsing onto the small couch they kept in the office. "Another Sweetieport Systems rescue mission complete."

Ken leaned back in his chair, stretching arms that had been in the same position for hours. "Not how I planned to spend the day, but better than the alternative of leaving them stranded."

"Speaking of which," Toni said, checking her watch, "aren't your parents expecting our call in about fifteen minutes?"

Ken's eyes widened slightly. "Is it that late already?" He quickly saved his work and closed several windows. "I need to show them the LOVE BOT prototype."

"Is it ready?" Toni asked, sitting up with interest. Ken had been working on refinements to the emotional support AI for weeks, particularly focused on making it accessible for his mother during her recovery.

"As ready as it can be without actual user testing," Ken said, opening a different program. "Dad got Mom a tablet she can use from bed, so we'll do a test run during the call."

Toni moved to sit beside him as he initiated the video call. After a few rings, Ken's father's face appeared on screen, his smile warm despite the evident fatigue in his eyes.

"There are my favorite kids," he greeted them. "Hold on, let me bring this to your mother."

The camera view bobbled as he carried the device into the bedroom. Ken's mother was propped up against several pillows, her complexion paler than usual but her smile bright when she saw them.

"There's my boy," she said warmly. "And Toni! You both look wonderful. How's the cat?"

As if summoned, Samba leapt onto Ken's lap, positioning herself directly in view of the camera.

"The Queen of Queenport sends her royal greetings," Ken laughed, adjusting to accommodate the cat. "How are you feeling, Mom?"

"Better every day," she replied, though the careful way she shifted position told a different story. "The doctors say I'm doing well, just need patience."

"And since patience isn't exactly her strong suit," Ken's father added with fond exasperation, "it's been an interesting week."

"I have something that might help," Ken said, his expression brightening with enthusiasm. "Remember that AI project I told you about? I've got a prototype ready for you to try."

He shared his screen, showing a simple, elegant interface with a conversation window.

"This is the TK LOVE BOT," he explained. "I've customized it specifically for you, Mom. It can keep track of your medications, answer questions about your recovery, read to you when you're bored, or just chat when you want company."

Ken's mother leaned forward, clearly intrigued. "You made this for me?"

"It was inspired by something he made for me," Toni interjected. "But this version is all about supporting someone through recovery."

"Try it," Ken encouraged. "Ask it anything."

His mother thought for a moment. "What time should I take my pain medication?"

The interface lit up as the AI processed the question. A calm, friendly voice responded:

According to your schedule, your next dose of pain medication should be taken at 5:30 PM, which is approximately 45 minutes from now. Would you like me to set a reminder?

Ken's mother's eyebrows rose in surprise. "How does it know my medication schedule?"

"Dad sent me the information," Ken explained. "I programmed it in. The bot can remind you of appointments, medication times, and even suggest appropriate activities based on your energy level and recovery stage."

"Ask it something else," Ken's father suggested, clearly impressed.

"I'm feeling frustrated about being stuck in bed," Ken's mother said, this time addressing the AI directly. "What can I do?"

The LOVE BOT responded thoughtfully:

I understand feeling frustrated with limited mobility during recovery, Gloria. Based on your current recovery stage, some activities that might help include: listening to an audiobook (I notice you have several downloaded but not started), gentle seated stretches approved by your doctor, or video calling with friends. You mentioned yesterday that you miss your garden—would you like me to show you some photos from last spring's blooms that Ken uploaded?

Ken's mother's face softened with emotion. "It remembered about my garden," she said, looking up at the camera. "And it called me Gloria."

"It's designed to be personal," Ken explained. "The more you interact with it, the more it learns about your preferences and patterns."

"This is remarkable, son," Ken's father said, genuine pride in his voice. "How do we get this on Gloria's tablet?"

Ken guided them through the installation process, patiently explaining each step until the LOVE BOT was successfully running on his mother's device. By the time they finished, his mother was already engaging with the AI, asking questions about her recovery timeline and requesting music recommendations.

"This will make such a difference," she told Ken, her eyes bright with gratitude. "Especially during those long afternoons when your father needs to run errands."

"That's exactly why I made it," Ken said, his voice warm with affection. "A little bit of us there with you until we can visit in person."

After the call ended, Ken sat quietly, a mixture of satisfaction and wistfulness on his face.

"That went well," Toni offered, squeezing his hand. "Your mom seemed genuinely excited about the bot."

"It's still not the same as being there," Ken said softly. "But it's something, at least."

"Something pretty amazing," Toni corrected. "You created a tool that will make a real difference in her recovery—and potentially for many others eventually."

Ken nodded, his expression thoughtful. "That's what I'm hoping. If it works well for Mom, maybe we really could develop it commercially."

"Sweetieport Systems' first product," Toni said, excitement building in her voice. "We could focus on seniors recovering from surgery at first, then possibly expand to other applications."

Ken's eyes lit up with renewed enthusiasm. "We'd need to refine the medical knowledge database, add more personalization options..."

"And improve the voice recognition for users who might have speech difficulties," Toni added.

They were off, bouncing ideas back and forth with the seamless rhythm that made them such effective partners. Samba watched them from her perch on the desk, occasionally meowing as if offering her own suggestions.

The conversation continued through dinner preparation, with Toni chopping vegetables while Ken leaned against the counter, tablet in hand, making notes about potential features and improvements.

"We should set up a focus group," Toni suggested, sliding diced onions into a sizzling pan. "Maybe through that senior center where we did the website redesign last year."

"Good thinking," Ken agreed. "Lily there was really helpful. I bet she'd be interested in coordinating something."

Toni stirred the sautéing vegetables, watching Ken's animated expressions as he expanded on their plans. This was what made their partnership work so beautifully—the way their individual strengths complemented each other, how one's enthusiasm fed the other's.

"We should celebrate," she declared, reaching for two glasses. "This is a milestone. The first Sweetieport product that isn't a custom client solution."

Ken looked up from his notes, his smile warm. "You're right. This calls for the good wine."

They toasted to the LOVE BOT and to Ken's mother's recovery, the clink of their glasses a small but meaningful ceremony in their kitchen. Outside, the tide was coming in, waves crashing against the shore in the gathering darkness.

After dinner, they returned to the office to refine their ideas, the energy of possibility carrying them late into the evening. Ken worked on technical specifications while Toni drafted a business plan, their complementary skills creating a whole greater than its parts.

The next morning brought a new challenge. A critical client email arrived before dawn—the Hatfield museum in Newport was experiencing issues with the interactive exhibit Sweetieport Systems had designed for their coastal ecology display.

"Touch screen calibration is completely off," Ken reported, already dressed and gathering his toolkit. "They've got three school groups scheduled today."

"I'll come with you," Toni offered, quickly pulling her hair into a ponytail. "Four hands will make it go faster."

The drive to Newport took just under 20 minutes, the coastal highway offering glimpses of the ocean between stands of towering pines. They discussed potential causes for the exhibit malfunction, Toni taking notes on her tablet as Ken drove.

"If it's just calibration, we should be in and out in an hour," Ken said hopefully. "But if it's the sensor array..."

"Let's hope for option one," Toni replied. "We've got that video conference with the Portland client at two."

The museum director met them at the staff entrance, her relief evident. "Thank goodness you're here. The first school group arrives in forty-five minutes."

Ken immediately set to work examining the exhibit—a large interactive display that allowed visitors to explore different coastal ecosystems. Toni handled communication with the museum staff, gathering information about when the problems started and what changes might have occurred.

"Looks like someone adjusted the projection angle," Ken determined after examining the hardware. "And then tried to compensate with software tweaks, which made things worse."

"Can you fix it?" the director asked anxiously.

"Absolutely," Ken assured her, already removing the access panel. "Toni, can you get me the calibration kit from the car?"

They worked in tandem, Ken handling the hardware adjustments while Toni ran the calibration software. Their efficiency born of countless similar situations—unexpected problems requiring immediate solutions.

"You know," Toni said quietly as they worked, "we should consider adding a remote diagnostic capability to our museum installations. Something that would alert us to changes before they become critical."

Ken nodded thoughtfully. "Preventative maintenance instead of crisis response. Not a bad idea for Futureport planning."

The director, overhearing, looked between them curiously. "Futureport?"

Toni smiled. "Just our shorthand for forward planning. One of our little Sweetieport Systems traditions."

By the time the first yellow school buses pulled into the parking lot, the exhibit was functioning perfectly again. The director's gratitude was effusive as she walked them out.

"You two are miracle workers," she declared. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

"Just doing our job," Ken said modestly, but Toni could see the satisfaction in his eyes. There was something deeply fulfilling about solving problems, about making things work again.

They made it back to their home office with time to spare before the Portland client conference call. The afternoon passed in a whirlwind of work—the video conference, followed by updates to the LOVE BOT based on feedback from Ken's mother, then responding to various client emails and inquiries.

By evening, the intensity of the past two days had begun to take its toll. Ken's shoulders were tight with tension, and Toni found herself rereading the same email three times without absorbing its content.

"I think we've reached the limits of Productivityport," she announced, closing her laptop with finality. "Time to escape."

Ken looked up, blinking as if emerging from deep water. "What time is it?"

"Past seven. And we've been going non-stop since yesterday's marina crisis." Toni stood, stretching her stiff back. "We need a break, sweetie."

Ken saved his work, reluctance warring with acknowledgment of her point. "The LOVE BOT documentation still needs—"

"Will still be there tomorrow," Toni finished for him. "Right now, we both need some fresh air and distance from screens."

They walked down to the shore as the last light of day painted the horizon in spectacular oranges and pinks. The tide was out, exposing a wide stretch of sand where they could walk side by side. Samba had declined their invitation to join, preferring the comfort of her window perch to the uncertain terrain of the beach.

"The tide goes out, the tide comes in," Toni observed as they walked, fingers intertwined. "Kind of like our work rhythm lately."

Ken squeezed her hand. "High tide of crisis, low tide of calm?"

"Exactly," Toni nodded. "And I think we're due for some serious low tide time soon. We've been running on adrenaline for days."

Ken was quiet for a moment, his gaze on the distant horizon where sea met sky. "Mom said something interesting today when she called about the LOVE BOT. She said retirement wasn't what they expected—busier in some ways, calmer in others. But they had to learn to create space for true rest."

"Wise woman, your mom," Toni said. "What kind of space do you think we need?"

Ken considered the question seriously, as he did most things. "Something completely different from our daily work. Something without screens or code or client demands."

"Naturport instead of Techport," Toni suggested with a smile.

"Exactly," Ken's face lightened. "Maybe a hike this weekend? That trail near Cape Perpetua we've been meaning to explore?"

Toni felt a surge of enthusiasm at the suggestion. "That sounds perfect. A whole day away from computers, with just trees and ocean and us."

"And a picnic," Ken added, warming to the idea. "That fancy cheese you like, a bottle of wine."

"Now you're speaking my language," Toni laughed, leaning against his shoulder as they walked. "It's a date."

They continued along the shore as twilight deepened around them, their conversation turning to lighter topics—a book Toni was reading, a podcast Ken had enjoyed, Samba's latest attempt to claim Ken's office chair as her exclusive territory.

By the time they turned back toward home, both felt noticeably lighter, the tension of the day's work eased by the rhythm of waves and the simple pleasure of each other's company.

"Thank you," Ken said as their house came into view, warm light spilling from its windows.

"For what?" Toni asked.

"For knowing when to pull me away from the screen." He stopped walking to turn toward her. "For balancing my tendency to disappear into the work."

Toni reached up to touch his face, her palm warm against his cheek. "That's what partners do, sweetie. Keep each other in balance."

Back at the house, they found Samba exactly where they'd left her, though she'd moved from the window to Ken's recently vacated office chair. Her expression as they entered suggested mild disapproval at their extended absence.

"Yes, Your Majesty, we know we're late," Toni told the cat, scratching behind her ears in supplication. "Your royal dinner will be served immediately."

The evening settled into peaceful domesticity—a simple meal shared at the kitchen table, plans for their weekend hike taking shape, Samba weaving between their legs in her eternal quest for treats.

Later, as they prepared for bed, Ken's phone pinged with a message from his mother:

The LOVE BOT reminded me to take my evening walk around the house (doctor's orders) and then played my favorite classical music while I did my stretches. Your father says I haven't been this compliant with medical instructions ever in our 60 years of marriage. Whatever magic you put in this thing, it's working. Love you both. ❤️

Ken showed the message to Toni, his expression a mixture of pride and profound satisfaction.

"That," he said softly, "makes all the late nights worth it."

Toni wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. "From a personal solution to a tool that helps others—that's the best kind of work."

"The best kind of Sweetieport," Ken agreed, turning in her embrace.

As they drifted toward sleep that night, thoughts of code and clients gradually gave way to anticipation of their planned escape—a day among the coastal forests, away from the digital world that both fulfilled and sometimes depleted them.

"Goodnight, sweetie," Toni murmured, already half-dreaming of forest paths and ocean vistas.

"Goodnight," Ken replied, his voice equally soft. "Welcome to Dreamport."

Outside their window, the tide continued its eternal rhythm—advancing and retreating, just as their lives ebbed and flowed between immersion in their digital creations and reconnection with the natural world that had drawn them to this special place. Two forces in perfect balance, like the partnership they had built together.