The kitchen is spotless and empty.
Marta hasn't arrived yet to start her day.
I move through the space and pull out the coffee tin from the cabinet above the sink where Dante insisted I store the gift he gave me.
It smells heavenly as I measure grounds into the moka pot and set it on the stove.
He'd like me to use the fancy brewing machine, but I prefer this way because it's all I've ever known.
And some things, even though easier or more luxurious, aren't necessarily better.
While I wait for the coffee to brew, I lean against the counter and look around.
This kitchen has become familiar over the past few weeks.
I know where Marta keeps the good flour.
I know which drawer holds the measuring spoons.
I know that the third burner on the stove runs hotter than the others.
These aren't things a guest would know.
These are things someone who lives here would notice.
A week ago, I'd have been upset by this or even disgusted that I know Dante's house this way.
Hell, I know his body like this now too, and instead of frightening me, it makes me smile.
I turn and watch the stove top where the pot starts to hiss and bubble, then pour the coffee into a cup and add a splash of milk from the refrigerator.
Then I sit at the counter and wrap my hands around the warm ceramic.
The steam rises and I breathe it in.
Such a divine scent, though I have to let it rest a second before sipping or I'll scald my tongue.
Footsteps on the stairs make me look up.
Dante appears in the doorway wearing only the pants he had on last night.
His hair is messy from sleep.
Sofia is perched on his hip with her arms around his neck.
She's still half asleep and clinging to him like a koala, her little head perched on his shoulder, and she has sleepy eyes.
"She woke up and couldn't find you," he says. "She was about to panic until I told her you were down here."
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake either of you."
"It's fine. I needed to get up anyway."
He sets Sofia on the counter stool next to where I'm sitting then bends down to kiss my forehead.
She immediately leans against my shoulder and closes her eyes again.
I stroke her hair and she makes a small, contented sound.
