Sunday morning came slow and bright. Sunlight slipped through the thin curtains, scattering soft shapes across Hannah's living room. The scent of the flowers they'd bought yesterday still hung in the air — wild lavender and something citrus-sweet.
Emma was already awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her sketchbook balanced on her knees. She didn't notice Hannah watching her at first. The pencil moved quickly, light strokes turning into something that almost looked like the morning itself — calm, untidy, alive.
"Do you ever stop?" Hannah asked, voice still rough from sleep.
Emma looked up, smiling. "Not when I'm happy."
Hannah pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders and sank onto the couch. "That's a good reason to keep going, then."
Emma turned the sketchbook so she could see. "It's just light and windows, really. But somehow it feels like you."
Hannah's cheeks warmed, but she didn't look away. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me before coffee."
"Give me five minutes, I'll make it better." Emma stood, stretching, and padded into the kitchen. The smell of toast and fresh coffee soon filled the air.
They ate at the little table by the window, watching the quiet street wake up — a dog walker, a newspaper delivery, the sound of a car door somewhere down the block. Ordinary things. Perfect in their own way.
Hannah reached across the table, brushing her fingertips against Emma's wrist. "I like mornings like this," she said softly.
Emma smiled, eyes full of light. "Then let's have more of them."
The moment settled between them, simple and sure. No rush. No pretending. Just the steady rhythm of something real beginning to grow.