KENDRICK POV
The smell of freshly ground coffee beans was the closest thing to therapy I believed in. That, and the quiet satisfaction of control—of order. Storm purred low in my chest as I poured the hot, dark liquid into the five mugs lined neatly in a row. Precision. Timing. Planning.
All the things I thrived on.
Kyle was humming under his breath behind me, carefully arranging the last of the brioche pastries onto a wide ceramic tray. He was all lightness and bounce, even now. Especially now. Always so good at pretending nothing was wrong when everything was. He added one final Danish to the tray like it was a crown jewel, then nudged my elbow with his.
“She’ll love these,” he said, grinning sideways.
“I know,” I replied simply, grabbing the cinnamon shaker and giving one mug exact
