With the water gently moving beside us.
No alarms.
No countdown clocks.
Just the two of us.
For tonight—
The world is finally quiet.
54
Boone
Morning on the river starts slowly.
The sun rises behind the trees, turning the water pale gold.
Mist drifts across the surface.
Birds move through the tall reeds along the shoreline.
And for once—
Nothing is trying to explode.
I step onto the porch carrying two mugs of coffee.
The screen door creaks softly behind me.
Wren is already sitting in one of the wooden rocking chairs.
Barefoot.
Hair slightly messy from sleep.
Wrapped in one of my flannel shirts.
She’s staring out at the lake like she’s studying a painting.
“You’re up early,” I say.
She glances over.
“I woke up when the birds started yelling at each other.”
“That’s normal around here.”
“I think they’re arguing about territory.”
“Probably.”
I hand her one of the mugs.
She inhales the steam.
“That smells amazing.”
