Sunday morning felt different.
The air was colder. The sky is darker. Or maybe that was just my anxiety talking.
Lycian made breakfast. Pancakes shaped like hearts. Trying to be cute. Trying to distract me.
“You’re stress-eating,” he said. Watching me demolish my third pancake.
“I’m comfort-eating. There’s a difference.”
“What are you worried about? My dad’s announcement?”
“Among other things.” I drowned another pancake in syrup. “What do you think he’s going to say?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me anything.” He stole a piece of my bacon. “But whatever it is, we’ll handle it.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.” He reached across the table. Took my sticky, syrup-covered hand. “I love you. Remember?”
“I love you too.” The words still felt new. Exciting. Terrifying. “But
