Breakfast smelled like toasted bread and coffee—cheap, fast, the kind of morning meal that didn't require much effort.
She'd fried up eggs the way only she could—perfectly golden at the edges, soft in the middle, with just enough seasoning to make them taste like something out of a restaurant instead of my tiny kitchen. Toast sat on the side, butter melted just right, and somehow she'd even managed to make the coffee smell richer than usual. It was simple food, sure, but when Val cooked, it never felt simple.
She sat across from me at the small table, hair still a little damp from her shower, one knee tucked up onto her chair like she was too comfortable in my apartment to pretend at manners.
