I woke up before him.

Cael on his stomach, one arm under the pillow, dark hair across his forehead, breathing slow and even. The morning light coming through the gap in the curtains catching the line of his shoulder.

I got up quietly and went to the kitchen.

I don't cook. I have a housekeeper who comes three times a week and a personal chef on call and I have not made breakfast for another person in longer than I can remember. But I stood in my kitchen at seven in the morning and made eggs and toast and coffe.

I set everything on the counter and went back to...