The scent of coffee pulled Melisa from the edges of sleep.
She blinked her eyes open slowly, confusion softening her features as the early morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of her bedroom. It took her a moment to recognize the room—not the cold, unfamiliar place she had first stepped into weeks ago, but a space that now bore little pieces of her.
Her slippers were near the bed. Her scarf, the one she wore too often, hung loosely over the back of the chair. A book she'd been trying to finish lay open on the nightstand.
The scent drifted again—fresh coffee, warm bread.
She glanced at the clock. 7:36 a.m.
Strange. She hadn't set an alarm.
Stretching slightly, she slid out of bed, pulled on her robe, and padded down the hall.
The kitchen was warm with soft light, and Leonard stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to his elbows, flipping what looked like golden crepes in a pan. The sight alone was enough to make her stop.
