I woke up to the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. My eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the morning light filtering through the curtains.
Lorenzo was awake, lying on his side of the bed, looking at me.
"How long have you been staring at me?" I asked.
"I wasn't staring. I was making sure you were still breathing."
"That's literally the definition of staring."
"That's making sure my wife didn't die in her sleep from stress induced cardiac arrest."
"Very romantic."
"I wasn't trying to be romantic. I was trying to be practical."
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. The awkwardness of sharing a bed with someone I barely tolerated was somehow worse now.
"How long have you been awake?"
"About an hour."
"And you've been watching me sleep for an hour?"
"Not watching but monitoring." He said as he got out of bed.
"Bathroom's yours first." He said. "I'll make coffee."
"I can make my own…"
"I know you can. But I'm already up. Just let me do something helpful."
