The sun was already bright when Fred woke up. The light slipped through the curtains and touched his face.
He groaned softly and turned over, his hair messy and his eyes still half closed. The alarm clock on the bedside table showed ten o’clock.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his face with both hands.
“Ten already,” he said.
He had overslept again.
The blanket slid off him as he got up. He was still in his pajamas—soft gray ones that looked wrinkled from the night.
When he stepped out of the bedroom, a faint smell reached him.
Something warm, something like eggs and toast. His stomach growled. He followed the smell to the kitchen.
The sight there made him stop at the doorway.
Anabelle was standing by the stove wearing one of his shirts—it was too big for her and hung loosely on her
