10
Grace.
We were having pancakes for breakfast.
Sophie had insisted. Not just on pancakes, but on making them herself. That meant cracked eggs on the floor, a lopsided mound of flour near the sink, and more batter in her hair than in the bowl, but I didn’t care. She stood on her little step stool beside me, face dusted in sugar while proudly flipping tiny golden circles like a four-star chef.
Daniel sat at the island, grinning behind his coffee mug. His hair was still damp from the shower, curls messy and sleeves rolled. God, he looked good like that, like a man completely at home. I caught him watching me more than once that morning, like he was memorizing the shape of my smile.
“Okay, taste test!” Sophie announced, sliding a mini pancake onto a plate and running over to him.
He t
