The smell of coffee reached Ella before she even stepped into the kitchen.
Sunlight filtered softly through the sheer curtains, casting golden streaks across the floor. She followed the sound of light movement and the occasional clink of cutlery, rubbing her arms and still adjusting to how strange—but peaceful—it all felt.
Nicholas stood by the stove in a plain white T-shirt and sweatpants, barefoot, a mug already in his hand as he flipped something in a pan.
"Good morning again, wife," he said without turning around, clearly hearing her footsteps. "Sleep okay once I stopped being your human pillow?"
"You didn't complain at the time," she said, stepping closer.
He glanced over his shoulder, eyes twinkling. "That's because I liked it."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the smile pulling at her lips. "So, what are you burning?"
"Excuse me," he said with mock indignation. "I am making pancakes. From scratch."
Ella peered into the pan. "Huh. You can cook."
