The next morning, I woke slowly, not to an alarm, but to the gentle aroma of coffee and something sweet. I felt a pleasant, heavy weight on my left, where Lucy was still sound asleep, her small hand firmly wrapped around my thumb.
I opened my eyes just as Luther—dressed in his casual morning t-shirt and track pants—came through the door. He wasn't carrying files or a phone; he was maneuvering a substantial breakfast tray, loaded with fresh fruit, pastries, and steaming mugs.
He set the tray carefully on the empty side of the bed, his movements deliberately quiet so as not to disturb Lucy. He looked down at the two of us tucked together, a soft, indulgent smile transforming his typically stern face.
"Good morning," he murmured, his voice low and warm. He leaned over, giving me a silent,
