He’s wearing another henley, this one charcoal gray, sleeves pushed up, forearms doing things forearms should not legally be allowed to do at seven in the morning. His hair is slightly damp like he washed up but didn’t bother to dry it fully, dark strands curling at the ends.
Before I can announce myself, he turns.
His eyes land on me—swaddled in his blanket, hair a disaster, sleep creases on my cheek—and something in his expression softens.
“Morning,” he says quietly.
“Morning,” I echo, voice still fuzzy.
“Sleep okay?”
“Better than okay.” I clear my throat. “Kind of spectacularly.”
His mouth tugs at the corner. “Good.”
He gestures toward the stove. “Made breakfast. Or…something that resembles breakfast. I can’t promise anything about flavor.”
I step closer, drawn by curiosity and hunger. “What is it?”
“Hash.” He pokes the pan. “Potatoes, peppers, onions, eggs. Whatever I could find that wasn’t frozen solid.”
I peer into the pan. It looks good—hearty and rustic and exactly what a snowy morning should smell like.
“Calder,” I say seriously. “This looks incredible.”
“You haven’t tasted it.”
“I’ve tasted catering disasters. Trust me, this is incredible.”
He huffs a laugh and grabs two mismatched plates.
“Coffee’s ready too,” he says.
I pour a mug and take a sip. It’s hot and dark and exactly what my bloodstream needed.
He watches me like he’s waiting for a verdict.
“This is perfect,” I say.
He nods once, something easing in his shoulders, as if he didn’t realize he’d been waiting to exhale.
We eat at the little counter, sitting closer than last night—physically closer because the space requires it, emotionally closer because the night shifted something neither of us is naming.
The storm continues outside, wind buffeting the walls. Snowflakes swirl past the window in thick waves.
I clear my throat. “So… the power’s still out?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think it’ll come back today?”
“Maybe. If the lines aren’t iced.” He sips his coffee. “I’ll go check the generator after we eat.”
I nod. “Okay. And afterward I can start taking measurements of the loft and the main room for the tree and the ornaments and?—”
He gives me a look. A very flat, very amused look.
I blink. “What?”
