[Kendall]
I’m straightening up and vacuuming inside while Camden cleans out the pool, and I think to myself how domestic we are. The hum of the vacuum fills the room, but underneath, there's a comfortable stillness—a kind of warmth that echoes the quiet intimacy we share.
Camden usually makes dinner because I’m simply not that good of a cook, but sometimes I bake cookies or cakes. The smell of vanilla and sugar often lingers in the kitchen, mingling with whatever dish he’s prepared. We watch reality television every week, a show that we both like, and we usually fall asleep on the couch those nights.
The weight of his arm draped over me, his warmth against my back, is the last thing I feel before I drift off. If we don’t fall asleep there, we fall asleep after making love, curled into
