Morning came through the window in a slant of pale gold, the sun burning through the overcast, the lake visible through the glass, flat and silver and calm. Aaron woke slowly, the way he had not woken in months — without urgency, without the sense of something waiting for him. The sheets were tangled around them. Sophie was still asleep, her face turned toward him, her hand resting on his chest, her breathing slow and even.
He lay still, not wanting to move, not wanting to break the quiet of the moment. He watched her sleep — the slight flutter of her eyelids, the way a strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, the small sound she made when she shifted closer to him in her sleep. He remembered the night before, the warmth of her, the way she had whispered his name in the dark, and felt a tenderness so sharp it ached.
She stirred, her eyes opening slowly, focusing on his face. A smile spread across her lips, lazy and warm.
"Good morning," she said, her voice rough with sleep.
