MICHEAL'S POV
The smell of coffee drifted through my penthouse before the sun had even fully come up.
I stood by the stove, flipping pancakes half awake, wearing the same sweatpants I'd crashed in. My hair was a mess, eyes still a bit swollen from sleep, but Jess always liked breakfast early. And I'd promised.
The kitchen was quiet except for the soft noise of the pans and the low sound of the fridge. Jess came down a few minutes later, barefoot, wearing an old hoodie of mine she’d found in the guest room closet. She smiled when she saw me cooking.
“Now this is a sight,” she said, sitting down on a stool. “Mikey in his natural habitat.”
I smiled, barely. “I told you I got you.”
She watched me for a second. “You didn't sleep, did you?.”
I shrugged. “Did you?”
“Like a baby.”
When
