nd of light that softened everything it touched. Lena stirred in Walker's bed, the sheets warm and rumpled around her. He wasn't beside her, but the scent of coffee drifting through the penthouse made her smile.
She padded barefoot into the kitchen to find him at the stove, shirtless in flannel pajama pants, stirring eggs with the ease of someone who'd done this a dozen times before. Music played low in the background—some mellow acoustic tune that made the morning feel unreal.
"You're cooking," she said, leaning against the counter, arms folded.
Walker turned, spatula in hand. "Don't look so shocked. I'm capable of more than spreadsheets and boardrooms."
"I'm just surprised you own a spatula."
He smirked. "Technically, it's yours. You left it here last week."
They sat down together at the kitchen island, plates full of eggs, toast, and fresh berries. It wasn't fancy, but Lena couldn't remember the last time breakfast had tasted this good. Maybe it wasn't the food at all.
Between bites, he glanced over at her. "I've been thinking about something."
She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds dangerous."
He chuckled, then sobered slightly. "About work. About balance. My schedule's always been insane, but being with you—it makes me question why I let it consume me."
She looked up, her fork stalling. "Are you saying you want to change that?"
He nodded. "Not give up the company. I love what I do. But maybe it's time to make space for other things. For us."
Lena's heart tugged painfully at the sincerity in his voice. She believed him. But she also knew it wouldn't be easy. The world he came from demanded all or nothing, and she'd seen what happened when people tried to have both.
Before she could say anything, his phone buzzed from the counter. He didn't move to check it. Instead, he reached for her hand.
"I want this, Lena. You. Mornings like this. I just… need you to be patient with me."
She squeezed his hand gently. "I'm here. Just don't forget why."
Later that afternoon, they took a long walk through the park, bundled up in scarves and holding hands like teenagers. They grabbed coffee from a small cart and sat on a bench, people-watching and talking about nothing and everything.
Lena stole a glance at him—his profile softened by winter light, a rare ease in his smile—and something inside her settled. Whatever storms might come, this was real.
But as they turned toward home, her phone buzzed with a message from her father's lawyer. A reminder that her own future was calling—and it wouldn't wait forever.
The message brought back a rush of obligations—licensing, renovation deadlines, and the question of whether she could truly balance her dreams with this deepening relationship. She slipped the phone back into her coat pocket without reading it aloud. Not yet. She wanted to hold on to this peace a little longer before reality shifted it.
Walker noticed her change in expression but didn't press. Instead, he laced his fingers through hers again, grounding her. As they walked back toward the penthouse, Lena realized something crucial. Love wasn't just about passion or shared mornings—it was about navigating life's pressures side by side. And soon, they'd both have to decide just how much they were willing to risk to keep building something that had only just begun