The morning sunlight spilled into the kitchen in golden sheets, warming the wood floors and softening the crisp edges of the day. Angel padded in barefoot, Deacon close behind her, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. At the counter, Elias sat on a stool, relaxed and surprisingly talkative, deep in conversation with Rose.
“I’m telling you,” Elias said with a chuckle, “the best food I’ve ever had was in India. So much flavor. Everything fresh—spices, vegetables, nothing processed. Just real food.”
Rose smiled as she poured a fresh cup of herbal tea. “Do you eat clean most of the time then?”
“I try,” Elias replied, accepting the cup she offered him. “But I’ve got a weakness for junk food every now and then. Nobody’s perfect.”
Angel pulled herself up onto a nearby stool with
