Ryder:
Sundays used to be mine.
I had a rhythm—work out, eat somewhere quiet, maybe ride if the sun was out. No real plans. Just time to breathe. Recharge.
But that was before her.
Now my free time had a name, a laugh, a favorite breakfast order. And I wouldn't trade it for the world.
She was already up and getting ready for the day, flipping through her sketchbook with that concentrated squint she got when something in her brain was clicking. More coffee brewed beside her. My hoodie hung off her frame. And she looked like every dream I didn’t even know I had.
“Diner?” I asked, dropping a kiss on her cheek.
She grinned. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Damn right I f*****g am.”
We drove with the windows down, music low, her legs tucked up on the seat like she owned the place. At the diner,
