Sunlight poured through the kitchen window, catching the steam rising from the coffee pot. Hannah stood barefoot at the counter, trying to keep the pancakes from burning while Emma leaned against the doorway, pretending to supervise.
"You know," Emma said, "you've flipped that one pancake three times now."
Hannah shot her a mock glare. "It's called quality control."
"It's called stalling because you're afraid to admit you burned the first batch."
Hannah turned, brandishing the spatula like a weapon. "You want to cook?"
Emma held up her hands. "I'm just moral support. You're the professional."
"Professional at what—smoke alarms?"
"Professional at making mornings feel better."
That made Hannah pause. The sunlight hit Emma's face just right, turning her grin into something warm and genuine. Hannah couldn't help but smile back. "You're lucky that was almost sweet," she said.
"Almost?"
"Don't push it."
They ended up sitting at the tiny table, sharing the pancakes—slightly uneven, definitely over-buttered, but perfect in their own way. Emma stole bites from Hannah's plate; Hannah pretended to be annoyed, but didn't move her plate away.
Outside, the town had started to wake up: dogs barking, car doors slamming, someone mowing a lawn two streets over. Inside, it felt like time had slowed down to make room for the laughter echoing off the kitchen walls.
When Emma reached for the syrup and nearly knocked over her coffee, Hannah caught the cup just in time. Their hands brushed, and both froze for a beat, smiles softening.
"See?" Emma said quietly. "We make a good team."
Hannah nodded, a tiny smile curving her lips. "Yeah… I think we do."
The rest of the morning unfolded in lazy joy—music playing from an old radio, dishes left unwashed, the whole world outside the window just a backdrop for the kind of happiness that doesn't ask for attention.