POV: Alex |
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
Rhythmic. Annoyingly cheerful. Like the person on the other side was tapping a love song against the door of my peace.
I groaned into my pillow.
It was too early. The sun was barely up. The curtains in my room were still drawn tight, exactly how I liked them. Silent. Dim. Calm.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
This time, a sing-song voice followed. "Alexxx~ I come bearing gifts!"
I sat up.
Great. Her.
I didn't need a clock to know it was Ava. No one else in this mansion sounded that excited to be alive.
The door creaked open before I could say anything.
She peeked in, balancing a tray like it weighed nothing—even though it held an absurdly decorated coffee mug with whipped cream piled like a mountain, rainbow sprinkles, and something that suspiciously looked like edible glitter. Next to it: chocolate pancakes stacked high, shaped like hearts, topped with melting vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup.
And her.
Ava Chen—no, Ava Ren now—standing there in fuzzy pink slippers, an oversized hoodie that might've been mine, hair cascading like a waterfall all the way to her thighs, and a smile so bright it almost gave me a migraine.
"Good morning, husband," she beamed.
I stared at her. Then the coffee. Then her again.
"What is this?"
"Your breakfast!" she said proudly, walking in like she owned the room. (Technically, I guess she did now.) "Made with love. And magic. And a tiny bit of over-whipping."
She set the tray on the nightstand beside me and waited. Like a golden retriever expecting praise.
"I don't eat sugar for breakfast," I muttered.
"You do now," she chirped. "Married life comes with perks."
And then—before I could stop her—she spun on her heels, marched across the room, and yanked the curtains wide open.
Sunlight exploded into the room.
I winced. "Ava."
"Sunshine is happiness, Alex," she said seriously, tossing her hair as if she were some Disney character welcoming the morning. "You can't start your day in the dark. It's bad for your soul."
"It's also bad for my eyes," I muttered, shielding my face.
She turned, hands on her hips, grinning like she'd just done a public service. "You're welcome."
The light hit her like a halo. All long black hair, bright eyes, and that eternal grin.
I hated how effortlessly she could glow like that.
She flounced back toward me and flopped down at the edge of the bed. "Now eat."
I looked at the heart-shaped pancakes. The ice cream. The whipped cream coffee with a chocolate stick poking out of it like a flag of surrender.
She sat beside me, legs swinging. "Don't be grumpy. Try it."
"Why are you like this?" I muttered, picking up the coffee anyway.
She leaned her head on her shoulder with a mock-innocent blink. "Born this way. Your problem now."
The coffee was… sweet. Too sweet. Obnoxiously sweet. But it wasn't bad. Actually… it was kind of perfect.
I didn't tell her that, though.
She was watching me too closely. Like she was waiting to see if I'd smile.
I didn't.
But I didn't scowl either.
She squealed anyway. "You like it!"
"No, I don't."
"Liar." She poked my cheek. "You're blushing."
"I'm not blushing."
"You're totally blushing."
She was wrong. Obviously. But it was hard to think clearly with her sitting so close, her perfume a soft mix of strawberries and warmth and whatever chaos she brought into every room she walked into.
Ava was sugar. Sunshine. Spilled glitter and loud laughter.
And I had no idea what to do with her.
"You didn't have to do this," I said quietly.
Her face softened. "I wanted to."
She meant it. I could tell. There wasn't a single part of her that did things halfway. Not her love. Not her energy. Not her ridiculously over-decorated coffee.
And for some reason, she'd decided to give all of it to me.
I looked at her again. She was still smiling. Still swinging her legs. Still humming a little song under her breath.
And I—stupidly—took another bite of the pancakes.