The room tilts slightly, sunlight streaming in through tall windows, unfamiliar angles and shadows everywhere. This isn’t the cabin. This isn’t the past. The difference should calm me, but my pulse doesn’t slow right away.
Then I see him.
Aiden is already awake, propped on one elbow beside me, watching my spiral with an expression so soft it almost hurts to look at. There’s no alarm in him, no tension, no retreat. Presence. The kind of quiet attention that doesn’t demand anything from me.
“Morning, Sunshine,” he says gently. “You okay?”
The nickname doesn’t sting this time. It lifts something deep inside of me.
I let out a shaky breath and swallow, forcing myself to really look at him. Rumpled hair. Sleep-rough voice. Familiar lines at the corners of his eyes that weren’t there six years ago. He looks real in a way my panic can’t argue with.
I give him a tentative smile. “You’re still here.”
His mouth curves, slow and sure. “Where else would I be?”
I glance down at the sheets, at the evidence of last night. And that he’s not calling last night a mistake. “So last night… happened. But where do we stand this morning?”
He reaches out, resting his hand over mine like an anchor. “I hope we stand in the same place we were last night.”
The certainty in his voice doesn’t feel performative. Still, I don’t let myself lean into it too fast. I’ve learned the hard way that certainty can evaporate if you rely on it too much. I nod once. “Okay.”
The tension breaks when he slides out of bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants, glancing back at me with a grin that’s far too boyish for a man his age. “Stay right there. I’ll get coffee.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” He’s gone before I can finish the sentence.
I lean back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, letting my heartbeat slow the rest of the way down. The bed smells like him, like warmth and something clean underneath, and I force myself not to spiral about what any of it means.
When he comes back, he does it carefully, balancing two mugs and a crooked smile, setting one on the nightstand before leaning down to steal a quick kiss that makes me laugh despite myself. “See? Still here.”
I wrap my hands around the mug, grateful for its normalcy. “You’re dangerously charming before eight a.m.”
He shrugs. “Years of practice.”
“It’s a problem.”
“Oh?”
“I have no defense against early morning charm.”
He grins. “Good to know for the future.”
We’re still smiling at each other when a sound cuts through the quiet. A door opening down the hall. Small footsteps.
I freeze. Aiden freezes too, eyes widening as realization hits both of us at the same time. Mason is awake. And neither of us looks remotely prepared for that.
We scramble in the most ungraceful way possible.
Aiden runs a hand through his hair as if that might make the situation look more respectable. I tug the sheet higher around myself, then immediately abandon that plan and reach for the nearest piece of clothing instead. It turns out to be Aiden’s shirt from last night, soft and oversized, and I pull it on without thinking.
The bedroom door opens before either of us can say a word.
Mason stands there in socked feet, hair sticking up in at least four different directions, clutching his stuffed dinosaur by the tail. He blinks once, then twice, his gaze darting between us, taking in details with the ruthless efficiency of a five-year-old who has discovered something interesting.
“I was looking for you. How come Mommy’s wearing your shirt?”
There’s no graceful answer to that question. There’s no lie that won’t immediately unravel under a follow-up. I glance at Aiden, and he glances at me, both of us silently communicating the same thing.
