Friday came in clear and still, the rain washed out overnight, the sky a pale blue that promised nothing and demanded nothing. Aaron woke to the sound of birds and the absence of urgency, the kind of morning that felt like a held breath. He lay in bed, the sheets tangled around his legs, and let himself be still.
Sophie was already awake. He could hear her in the kitchen — the soft opening of a cabinet, the clink of a mug, the low hum of a song he did not recognize. She hummed when she was happy, and she was happy more often than she knew. He had noticed it early in their time together, the way sound leaked out of her when she was absorbed in something simple.
He found her at the counter, a cup of coffee in her hand, her phone propped against the fruit bowl, a calendar open on the screen. She looked up when he walked in and smiled.
"Morning."
"Morning." He poured his own coffee and leaned against the counter beside her. "What are you looking at?"
