I woke up to the scent of coffee.
Not just any coffee, Jason's coffee. Rich, strong, with a hint of caramel syrup because he remembered I liked it that way once. The memory makes me smile even before I open my eyes.
Sunlight trickled through the open curtains, warming the sheets tangled around me. I stretched slowly, muscles sore in that kind of satisfying way you don't admit out loud. My fingers found the edge of Jason's hoodie on the nightstand—he must've draped it over me when I was half-asleep.
I pulled it on, sleeves swallowing my hands, and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
There he was.
Leaning against the counter in a black tee and joggers, messy hair, holding two mugs.
God, he looked unfairly good in the morning.
"Morning, trouble," he said without looking at me, offering one of the mugs over his shoulder.
"How long have you been up?" I asked, taking the coffee gratefully.
"A while."
He took a sip of his own and didn't elaborate.
