LAINE
I WAKE up on my own, and my heart does a little jump. A flip of panic at the thought he’s left me, that he doesn’t want me in the cold light of day.
I slip out of bed and grab my dressing gown, my feet quick on the stairs as I make my way down, and there he is, in the kitchen, and he’s cooking.
He’s already dressed, and he looks even more perfect in his suit this morning. His hair is slick and styled, and so dark that way that you can barely see the grey at his temples. His shirt is crisp and white, and he’s so careful as he fries up eggs.
“Morning sleepyhead,” he says, and he’s smiling. His smile makes my tummy flutter. “I was just about to wake you. Food’s up.”
He flips the eggs onto a plate and grabs some toast from the toaster.
Bacon, too. I smell bacon.
It’s the best smel
