The smell of bacon pulled me from sleep before the sunlight even had a chance to warm the sheets.
I blinked slowly, registering the golden glow leaking through the curtains and the soft sound of a pan sizzling in the distance. A smile tugged at my lips before I even opened my eyes.
It was him.
Again.
I sat up and stretched, Henry's shirt slipping off one shoulder. I walked out of the room barefoot, drawn by the delicious smell and the faint hum of music from the kitchen.
He was dancing.
Spatula in hand, barefoot in his gray sweats and a white T-shirt that hugged him in all the right places.
My lips curved into a smile.
His back was to me as he flipped pancakes and he did a little shoulder shimmy to the beat of whatever song was playing from his phone speaker.
"You always dance when you cook?" I teased.
Henry turned, startled for a second. And then grinned when he saw me standing there.
