The morning came slowly — sunlight slipping through the lace curtains, painting the kitchen in shades of gold. The air smelled of coffee and cinnamon, and a gentle tune drifted from the small radio on the counter.
Hannah stood barefoot by the stove, stirring oatmeal and humming along under her breath. She looked calm in a way Emma hadn't seen before — her shoulders unburdened, her movements unhurried.
Emma watched from the doorway for a moment before speaking. "You always wake up this early?"
Hannah smiled over her shoulder. "Old habits. The café opens in an hour, remember?"
"Right," Emma said with a sleepy grin. "Guess I'm spoiled. My mornings don't usually come with cinnamon."
"Stick around long enough and you'll get used to it." Hannah poured two bowls and slid one across the table.
They ate quietly for a while, the sunlight growing warmer on their faces. Outside, the world was waking — a delivery truck rumbled down the street, a neighbor waved from her porch.
Emma set her spoon down and leaned back, eyes tracing the soft lines of the kitchen — the mismatched mugs, the jars of dried herbs, the stack of hand-written recipes pinned to the fridge. "You know, this place feels alive. Like it's breathing."
Hannah followed her gaze, smiling faintly. "It's taken a long time to make it feel that way. I used to think 'home' was just a place you slept. Turns out, it's the people who make you want to wake up."
Emma met her eyes, and the warmth there said everything. No grand declarations, no plans — just the quiet understanding of two people who had found something rare.
The clock ticked softly on the wall. Hannah stood to grab her apron, tying it loosely around her waist. "You coming by the café later?"
Emma grinned. "You'll have to make me a coffee to earn that answer."
Hannah laughed. "Deal."
As Emma stepped out into the bright morning, she felt a sense of steadiness she hadn't known she'd been missing — the kind that only comes when life starts to fall gently into place.