Page 175 of Reeves

I sit up, and the panic converts into dread. He's not here. And neither is Benjy.

We didn't get busted. I flop down, exhaling a sigh of relief. My hand goes to my forehead.

I stare at the ceiling as my heart rate slows. How is it brightening in here like it's morning, but we are underground?

I need to check on Benjy, so I reach for my sundress from the floor. Pulling it over my head, I smooth my hair down and take a sip of the water Reeves left on the bedside table.

When I run my hand over the hem, I see his hands there and the way he looked up at me last night.

The hallway is quiet when I step out, but not empty-house quiet. I hear voices coming from the front.

The voices get clearer as I move closer, and I recognize Benjy's laugh underneath Reeves's deeper tones.

I pause at the edge of the hall, not quite ready to break whatever moment they're having. Not quite ready to face how normal this feels, waking up in his space and walking toward the sound of him with our son.

Reeves stands at the stove in a new blue button-down shirt, the fabric wrinkled slightly, but somehow making him look more real than polished. His movements are unhurried as he works at the stovetop. Benjy perches on a stool beside him, chin propped on his hands, watching with the kind of focus he usually saves for nature documentaries.

"Now watch this part," Reeves says, cracking an egg into the center of a piece of bread. He flips it with one smooth motion, the yolk staying perfectly intact in its bread frame.

"Whoa!" Benjy's eyes go wide. "How did you do that without breaking it?"

"Practice. Lots of practice."

I lean against the doorframe, one hand resting on the smooth wood. The ache starts low in my chest and spreads outward. This is what I pictured in the quiet moments when I let myself imagine. Not grand gestures or fairy tale endings. Just this. A man at the stove, teaching my son how to make a special breakfast while morning light filters through the space around them.

Reeves leans down, saying something too quiet for me to catch. Benjy dissolves into laughter, the bright sound that always hits me square in the chest. The kind of laugh that means he feels safe and seen and delighted by the world.

"Mom!" Benjy spots me first, practically vibrating with excitement. "Look what Reeves is making! It's called egg in a hole, and you cut the bread first, and then you crack the egg right in the middle, and it doesn't break, and it's like magic, but it's real!"

The words tumble over each other in his rush to share this discovery.

Reeves glances over his shoulder. His expression brightens when he sees me, like he's been waiting for me to appear. He turns back to the stove, sliding the finished piece onto a plate.

"I picked it up during boot camp. It’s quick and easy when you're working with basic equipment."

His voice is steady, matter-of-fact, but there's more underneath it. Like he's trying not to make this moment bigger than it needs to be.

I step fully into the kitchen, and the shift happens immediately. No longer watching from the outside. Now I'm part of whatever this is becoming.

"Can you make one for Mom, too?" Benjy asks, already assuming this is how mornings work now. That Reeves will be here making breakfast and explaining things and laughing at his jokes.

"If she wants one."

Reeves's eyes find mine, and the question there isn't really about breakfast.

The kitchen smells like butter and bread and something I haven't had in years. The possibility of sharing mornings.

"I'd love one. Thanks, Chef."

The excitement comes out before I think about it. Before I can weigh the risks or measure the consequences. The smell ofthat bread and the way Benjy's face lights up and the careful way Reeves waits for my answer add up to something I want to be part of.

Reeves nods once, already reaching for another piece of bread.

I move to the coffee maker, but he's there first, pouring dark liquid into a mug. He already knows how I like it. One sugar, light cream. He sets it in front of the chair closest to where Benjy sits, not asking where I want to sit, just knowing.

My stomach aches in the best way.

"This is so good!" Benjy talks around a mouthful of egg and bread, too excited to remember his manners. "Can we have this every day?"