After another day of awkward domestic bliss, I woke up to an unusual sight. Matthew, dressed impeccably as always, was standing by the window, holding a steaming mug in his hand. The early morning light filtered through the curtains, catching the sharp lines of his face.
“Is that coffee?” I asked groggily, rubbing my eyes.
Matthew turned, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Good morning to you too, Mrs. Gorvell.”
“Don’t avoid the question. Since when do vampires drink coffee?”
He shrugged, walking over to the bed. “It’s not for sustenance; it’s for the aesthetic.” He handed me the mug, the scent of vanilla wafting up. “This one’s for you.”
I blinked, surprised. “You... made me coffee?”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he muttered, pretending to examine the painting on the wall.
“I m
