POV’s Philip
I huffed a silent chuckle, walking into the kitchen.
It was decently organized in here, making it easy to find the tea and kettle. As the water boiled, I looked out the window. They were beginning to plow the streets, but it was still lightly snowing.
Once the water was ready, I made the two of us some black tea. Just as the tea had finished steeping, I heard a muffled groan from the living room. Looking up, I found Tate sitting up, running a hand through her hair.
Her eyes searched the room before looking over the kitchen counter at me. She rubbed her eyes before smiling lazily.
I felt my breath hitch.
Ignoring it, I grabbed both of our mugs, walking over.
“Morning,” I said, my own voice still rough from fatigue.
“Morning,” she replied, her voice also raspy. She looke
