Chapter 6 - Morning Light and Pancakes
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the arched window of the Bleecker Street apartment, turning the dust motes in the air into glittering gold.
Nathaniel woke up stiff and unaccustomed to sleeping sitting half-upright on a narrow velvet sofa with a wool blanket tangled around his legs. His custom suit jacket was draped neatly over the armchair, his tie was slung over the lamp, and his white shirt was rumpled. For the first time in his adult life, he didn't care.
From the kitchen came the distinct, delightful sound of clattering spoons and whispered giggles.
"Shh, Mommy, we have to flip it now!"
"If we flip it too fast, Mr. Nathan's masterpiece is going to look like scrambled yellow pavement, Emma."
Nathaniel pushed the blanket off, stood up, and stretched his stiff muscles with a quiet groan. He walked down the hall and stopped in the doorway of the kitchen.
Rebecca was standing by the stove, wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt and sweatpants, her dark hair tied back in a messy bun. Her color was back, her skin cool and clear, and the fever had completely broken. Next to her stood Emma, balancing precariously on a sturdy stepstool, holding a spatula that was twice as large as necessary.
On the counter sat a plate of pancakes—some beautifully golden, others deeply charred on one side, but piled high with love.
Emma spotted him first.
"Mr. Nathan! You're awake!" she squealed, dropping the spatula into the sink and running over to grab the hem of his rumpled trousers. "We made breakfast! Mommy said you're a good cooker assistant, but I'm the head chef."
Rebecca turned around, leaning back against the counter with a coffee mug in her hand. A soft, radiant smile lit up her face—a smile that had no trace of stress, exhaustion, or fear in it.
"Good morning, CEO," Rebecca said, her voice clear and melodic. "I trust your accommodations on the velvet throne were satisfactory?"
Nathaniel walked over, picking Emma up effortlessly and setting her onto the counter safely away from the hot stove. He looked down at Rebecca, taking in the easy, unguarded grace of her posture.
"The accommodations were acceptable," Nathaniel replied, a slow, rare smile spreading across his face. "Though the mattress lacked lumbar support, and the chef is dangerously unqualified."
Emma gasped playfully, covering her mouth with both hands. "Hey! I'm a master chef!"
"My apologies, Chef Emma," Nathaniel chuckled. He looked back at Rebecca, his expression softening into something deep, steady, and entirely permanent. "So. Since our initial blind date was violently interrupted by an unscheduled rescue mission... I believe we have unfinished business."
May you like
Rebecca’s smile widened, her hazel eyes dancing with warmth. "Is that so? And what does your calendar say about that, Mr. Grant?"
"My calendar," Nathaniel said, stepping closer until he was standing just inches away from her, the warmth of her coffee mug radiating between them, "is officially cleared for the next eighty years."
