The mornings felt different now.
Not just because Zane always woke up first, demanding a bottle with the screech of a tiny but mighty commander… or because Luna had decided her new favorite napping place was Ethan's chest while he tried to read emails.
It was the quiet in between. The small, unspoken rhythm that had formed between Talia and Ethan, like a dance choreographed by late-night feedings, shared laughter, and glances that lingered a little too long.
With Mia away for a short trip, the house had settled into a new kind of intimacy.
No buffers. No distractions.
Just them… and the twins… and a growing silence filled with something neither of them wanted to name yet.
Talia walked into the kitchen one morning, her curls wild and bouncing, wearing his button-up shirt over her leggings. Ethan was already there, hair slightly tousled, bottle-warming duty in full swing.
He looked up and smiled, one of those rare, crooked grins that she'd come to secretly love.
