I flip the eggs, the toast pops up, and I plate everything with the quiet care of a man who suddenly understands that gentleness counts as competence too.
From the bathroom comes the sound of the shower starting, water hitting tile, Christa humming faintly to herself. Something loosens in my chest at the sound. She sounds… settled.
I make tea. Two mugs. Same ones we always use without ever discussing it. Muscle memory already rewriting itself.
Standing there, buttering toast, I realise something else.
Sex doesn’t have to be about proving I still work.
It can be about showing up.
About being attentive. About listening. About wanting her and letting that be enough, even if my body’s still catching up with the plan.
I carry the plates to the table and set them down. Steam curls up. Everything smells good. Normal. Domestic in a way that would have sent me running six months ago.
Now it just feels… right.
The bathroom door opens a few minutes later. She pads out, hair damp, wearing one of my T-shirts like it belongs to her. She smiles softly when she sees breakfast.
“You made food,” she says.
“I did,” I reply. “Very heroic.”
She laughs and takes a seat, reaching for my hand without thinking.
I sit opposite her, tea warming my palms, and let myself just be here.
No proving. No pressure.
Just breakfast.
29
Hormone-Induced. Entirely Non-Emotional.
Christa
Theo arrives at ourtable with cake and the sort of expression that means he has already ruined someone’s day.
He sets down the Gugelhupf, dusting sugar everywhere, then looks at Ivy instead of me.
“You told her yet?” he asks.
I blink. “Told me what?”
Ivy’s fork freezes mid-air.
“Theo,” she says, low and tight.
“What?” he shrugs. “I figured you were going to.”
He disappears back behind the counter, whistling and leaving cake, coffee, and a silence that feels suddenly too heavy for a Tuesday morning.
I look at Ivy. She’s staring at the table. Not the cake. Not her cup. The marble between her hands like she’s anchoring herself.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “What?”
She swallows. Her throat works like she’s pushing past something lodged there.
