I forgot what it’s like to wake up and not be alone.
I stand there too long, unsure what to do with my hands, my face, my entire existence. Domestic moments sneak up on you.
Cam doesn’t turn when he speaks.
“Morning.”
His tone is steady. Calm. Like we didn’t get married hours ago. Like last night didn’t happen. Like he isn’t a stranger who slept a few feet away from me because I asked him not to leave.
I swallow. “Morning.”
It’s wildly insufficient, but it’s all I’ve got.
He lifts the mug, checks something, sets it down again like this is routine.
This is my kitchen. My home. My sanctuary, now containing a very large, very quiet new human element who apparently knows where the mugs are.
I inch forward, one cautious step, like sudden movement might break the moment.
The room feels different with him in it.
Not louder. Not intrusive.
Just… grounded.
Cam finally turns, holding out a mug like this is the most normal thing in the world.
I recognize it instantly.
It's not the sleek white ones Sasha insists photograph better. It’s the navy ceramic one with the tiny chip on the rim. The one I reach for on anxious days. The one that feels sturdier in my hands, like it won’t judge me if I need to sit on the floor and spiral for a minute.
My brain short-circuits.
“You… made me coffee?” I ask, which is deeply stupid given the steam rising between us.
He shrugs. “You were up half the night. Figured you’d need it.”
His voice is deeper in the morning. Rough around the edges. Not sleepy, exactly, but unguarded. It settles into me in a way I don’t like because it feels too close to comfort.
I step forward and take the mug carefully. Our fingers don’t touch.
And I shouldn't want them to. But I notice anyway.
The heat sinks into my palms immediately.
I asked him to sleep on my couch, not recalibrate my nervous system.
I inhale.
Perfect.
The smell alone loosens something in my chest. The blend is exactly right. Not too bitter. Not watered down. He even added creamer. Not much. Just enough.
I frown at the mug like it betrayed me.
“How did you know?” I murmur.
“Lucky guess,” he says.
