The first light of dawn had barely kissed the horizon before Xavier's consciousness began to claw itself back from sleeping. His eyelids were heavy as he watched the steady rise and fall of Cathleen's chest. Her breathing was deep and steady in the stillness of the morning. With a calculated reluctance, as if he were shedding the weight of his own thoughts, Xavier let go of the bed sheet and swung his legs out onto the fluffy rug.
The kitchen was silent, an empty stage waiting for the daily performance to begin. With a practiced movement, he reached for an apron, the fabric feeling rough against his hands—hands that were more used to closing deals than holding culinary tools. Yet here he was, on the verge of navigating the unknown territory of Cathleen's taste buds.
Xavier stopped, the s
