Ordinary Morning
841 Words
Clara woke to the smell of coffee.
Not the faint memory of it.
Not the thought of it.
The real smell.
Warm. Rich. Fresh.
She frowned slightly, still half asleep, her brain slow to catch up with reality.
Her apartment never smelled like coffee this early.
Because she never woke early enough to make it.
She opened her eyes slowly.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains in soft golden lines, stretching across the bedroom floor.
And then she remembered.
He had stayed.
They had fallen asleep on the couch after talking until nearly two in the morning. At some point, he had carried her to bed, still half asleep and barely aware.
Her heart softened instantly.
She listened.
Clinking dishes.
A cupboard opening.
The quiet hum of someone moving carefully in a kitchen that wasn’t theirs.
She smiled before she even left the bed.
He stood at the stove in her tiny kitchen like he had always belonged there.
Sleeves rolled.
Barefoot.
Hair slightly messy from sleep.
Coffee brewing. Toast in the pan. Eggs cooking slowly.
He looked… peaceful.
Not powerful.
Not intimidating.
Just a man making breakfast.
Clara leaned against the doorway quietly, watching.
“You’re staring,” he said without turning.
She laughed softly.
“You’re cooking.”
“Yes.”
“In my kitchen.”
“Yes.”
“Voluntarily.”
He turned slightly, a faint smile appearing.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“You think I can’t cook?”
“I think you have people who cook.”
“I do.”
“But you’re doing it yourself.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He placed a plate on the counter.
“Because I wanted to.”
Her chest warmed.
That simple.
That intentional.
She walked closer slowly.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
She slipped onto a stool at the counter, resting her chin in her hand as she watched him finish plating the food.
“You’re very domestic this morning.”
“I’m capable of normal life.”
She smiled.
“I like this version of you.”
He placed a cup of coffee in front of her.
“I like this version of me too.”
She took a sip.
Perfect.
“You remembered how I like it.”
“I remember everything about you.”
Her heart skipped slightly.
He sat across from her and pushed the plate toward her.
“Eat.”
“You give a lot of instructions.”
“You ignore basic self-care.”
She laughed softly and picked up her fork.
They ate slowly.
No urgency.
No phones.
No meetings.
Just breakfast.
Ordinary.
And somehow extraordinary.
“You know,” she said between bites, “this feels dangerous.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Breakfast?”
“This,” she gestured between them. “This normal.”
He leaned back slightly.
“You don’t like normal?”
“I do.”
“Then why dangerous?”
“Because I could get used to it.”
He watched her carefully.
“Is that bad?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your life isn’t normal.”
He reached across the counter and took her hand gently.
“It is when I’m here.”
Her chest softened again.
“You make everything sound simple.”
“It isn’t simple. It’s chosen.”
She smiled faintly.
“That word again.”
“Intentional.”
She squeezed his hand lightly.
“I like intentional.”
They finished eating slowly, talking about nothing important.
Weather. Childhood memories. Favorite foods. Music.
Tiny pieces of life they hadn’t shared yet.
“Did you ever imagine your mornings like this?” she asked.
“No.”
“What did you imagine?”
“Meetings. Calls. Deadlines.”
“And now?”
He looked at her quietly.
“This.”
Her breath caught slightly.
He stood and began washing dishes before she could protest.
“You’re doing dishes too?”
“Yes.”
“You’re suspiciously perfect today.”
He smirked faintly.
“I’m establishing a reputation.”
She laughed softly.
“You’re succeeding.”
Later, they sat on the couch with sunlight filling the room.
Her head rested against his shoulder, legs tucked under a blanket.
Television playing quietly in the background, neither really watching.
Comfortable silence returned.
The best kind.
“Do you ever wish you had more mornings like this growing up?” she asked softly.
He thought for a moment.
“Yes.”
“What were your mornings like?”
“Busy. Quiet. Focused.”
“No breakfast?”
“Usually skipped.”
“No slow starts?”
“No.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“You deserve slow mornings.”
He kissed her hair gently.
“I have one now.”
Her chest melted completely.
They stayed like that for a long time.
No urgency.
No pressure.
No world outside the apartment.
Just warmth.
Just quiet.
Just them.
And for a few precious hours—
Love felt simple.
And ordinary.
And safe.
- Writer
