While falling asleep on my belly with my face in the pillow, your hand casually rests on the small of my back. Waking up before you, I sit at the table reading the paper as you quietly walk into the kitchen, boiling water for the French press. I pick my head up and take in your morning smile. Saying nothing, you come to me with the coffee pot and refill my cup.
“Aren’t you going to have any?” I ask, searching your face, gazing into your eyes. “No,” you say. “I just made this for you.”