Emma woke to the smell of burning toast and what sounded like creative cursing from the kitchen.
She sat up, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar angle of the room—sleeping on Alexander's side of the bed was still new—before remembering. Their bed now. Their room. Their life.
She found Alexander in the kitchen, dressed in pajama pants and a t-shirt she'd never seen him wear, glaring at the toaster like it had personally offended him.
"What are you doing?" Emma asked, trying not to laugh.
Alexander jumped, spinning around with a guilty expression. "Making breakfast. Or trying to. How do you make toast not burn?"
"You watch it. And maybe don't set it to maximum darkness." Emma crossed to the toaster, examining the charred remains inside. "Were you trying to cremate this bread?"
