The kitchen hums with life. Morning sun slants through the windows in golden streaks, warming the tiled floor where Mellow prances around like she owns the space. Her little Santa hat flops sideways with each bounce, tail wagging so enthusiastically it bumps into the legs of every chair, her new collar jingling faintly as she walks.
We just had some fruit for breakfast because we have a big agenda for meals today. Once we finish, we roll up our sleeves—I literally, Noah figuratively. The kitchen turns from calm into soft chaos. Our shared plan for the day kicks into action. Gingerbread cookies. Roasted chicken. Small joy folded into small acts.
We scatter around the kitchen like a well-rehearsed duo, gathering ingredients, bumping elbows occasionally, laughing when we reach for the same mixing bowl. Mellow is the third party in this choreography, zig-zagging between our feet, trying to decide whose side to join.
