She liked this part of the day -- when the building quieted, when the city softened just a little, when the sky outside went golden and the light inside turned gentle. It was the first time since moving in that she felt like she could truly exhale.
The sound of a door opening pulled her gently out of her focus. Ron stepped into the kitchen, barefoot, towel still draped casually over his shoulder. His shirt clung a little to his chest -- clearly fresh from a shower -- and there was a damp curl to the ends of his short hair. Not styled. Not performed. Just real.
He moved toward the fridge with that same unbothered grace he always seemed to carry. She noticed it more now -- how he didn't rush anything. Not even a glass of water.
"Smells incredible," he said, glancing at her, then the pot.
