The alarm on Dante’s phone roused him from a deep sleep. He was on his stomach, the comforter tangled around his legs, alone. Rolling himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, Dante scrubbed his face with his palm and scratched a zit on his chin. From the kitchen came the sounds and smells of breakfast being made; the clatter of pots and pans, the sizzle of bacon in the frying pan, and the pleasant aroma of brewing coffee. He wandered out into the living room, snatching up his discarded sweats and pulling them on before rounding the corner into the kitchen.
Izz was facing the oven, pouring pancake batter onto the hot griddle. He glanced back over his shoulder at Dante and smiled wickedly. “Good morning, beautiful.”
Dante gave Izz a quick peck on the lips as he walked past to the cabinet
