My stomach churns as panic rises in my throat until I remember Jessie spent the night. She slept, tucked under my arm.
Everything in my life that had once felt like it was falling apart felt like it was coming together.
I walk out of the bedroom and instantly catch a whiff of something amazing. Then my whole world turns on its axis as I watch Jessie, wearing my college shirt, with my daughter in a sling resting on her chest, while she cooks breakfast.
Her hair is up in a messy bun. She shimmies around the kitchen, and I notice her earbuds are in.
She doesn’t notice me at first, her hips swaying as she flips something in the pan, quietly mouthing the words to whateversong she’s listening to. Eli makes a little squeak from the sling, and Jessie grins down at her before swaying side to side.
I pause at the entrance of the kitchen, taking in how natural it looks for Jessie as she hums under her breath, one hand steadying Eli without a second thought. My chest aches with a warmth I have never felt, like this is what mornings were always supposed to be.
When she finally turns around and sees me, she pulls one earbud out with a mischievous smile.
“Caught me,” she says, cheeks pink. “I promise Eli doesn’t hate my singing as much as you probably will.”
I walk into the kitchen with a lazy smile, running my hand through Eli’s baby hairs. “Were you singing? I was too busy focusing on the dancing and wondering if you’re wearing any panties under my shirt.”
She huffs a breath of frustration, though I see the hint of a smirk as she turns back to the stove. The smell hits me again, and my stomach rumbles with excitement.
“What are you making?” I peer over her shoulder.
“French toast. I had such a craving. I had the ingredients sent to your door. What kind of person doesn’t have cinnamon?”
“People who clearly need someone like you,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her messy bun before reaching for a mug and filling it with coffee.
I place my coffee cup down and set the kitchen table. As a New Yorker, I’m used to breakfast on the go. These quiet mornings with Eli, and now Jessie, are becoming the best part of my day.
I take Eli from Jessie and secure her in a bouncy seat on the floor in between our chairs. Jessie sits at the end of the table with me diagonal from her, Eli in the middle.
“I don’t remember the last time I had French toast,” I admit as I smell the aromas. “I’m looking forward to this. Thank you.”
She winks. “Just returning the favor.”
“You don’t need to do this, but I appreciate you getting up with her. I’m sorry I missed it. Was she crying long?”
“No, I woke up before her. I wanted to let you sleep in, so I just told myself to get up early.”
“You set an alarm? I didn’t even hear it. It must have been soft.”
She laughs. “No, I just told my body before I fell asleep that I wanted to get up early.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “You told your body? That is not a thing.”
“Yes, it is,” she says over her big bite of toast. “I do it all the time on the weekends. If I want to sleep in, I just tell my body it’s time to get some good rest and not worry about getting up early.”
I stare at her for a beat, waiting for her to tell me she’s joking. But she is completely serious.
“Normal people set alarms, Jessie. You’re out here living like a Marvel character.”
She covers her mouth as a boisterous laugh breaks free while she chews. “A Marvel character? It’s not that big of a deal. Anyone can train their body.”
I shake my head. “You’re something else.”
She takes a sip of her coffee. “So, what’s on the agenda for you today?”
I look down at Eli, who is currently content in her seat. “What do you do with an almost eight-week-old? I suppose just hang out here.”
Her face softens. “You can still go out. Why don’t we do something fun?”
