She creeps quietly into the bedroom, the soft sound of heavy breathing greeting her the moment she crosses the threshold. The opaque drapes are drawn but do not block out the sliver of light trickling down from the moon. Feet slide across the smooth hardwood of the flood. One stride. Two. A half stutter step to the right to avoid the corner of the bed. She can follow this path with her eyes blindfolded, a journey she has taken time and time again in the dead of night. It is no longer a clandestine affair. This is her room, her spot, her side of the bed.

This is where she belongs.

Fingers adeptly unfasten the buttons of her starched white shirt, dropping the article of clothing carelessly on the ground before she shimmies out of her black linen pants. She shivers as the cool evening air kisses her flesh. She debates changing into pajamas before she quickly decides against it. His body heat will be enough to keep her warm.

Chunk moves from her side of the bed towards the foot without hesitation. He knows the drill. He willingly keeps her spot warm for her until she arrives and then he repositions himself to give her space to climb in. Fluff is not as considerate. His tiny head pops up from his post on Luke's pillow, groaning in annoyance at the fact that she dare disturb his slumber. Though they joke that he loves her the most, the newest member of the household seems much more content curled up with the man of the house than her. She rolls her eyes, whispering a single word into the silence. "Traitor."

She slips beneath the duvet, careful not to kick her beloved canine as she sidles up next to Luke. He is sound asleep, not unusual for this ungodly time of night. He is the responsible one, the one who sleeps at a decent hour because his profession dictates a more normal schedule. It is more obligation than him being a morning person. On the other hand, she is nocturnal by nature. These late night/early morning hours are by far her favorite.

Her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, its shadows receding. She traces the chiseled line of his jaw, hidden beneath the beard that has somehow grown unruly since he shaved this morning. Or perhaps it is a casualty of sleep. Either way, she loves the tousled, slightly unkempt look. This is him in his natural habitat. His most primitive state of being. The side that no one else witnesses but herself.

She recalls the days of their adolescence before his ability to grow facial hair drew her to him like a moth to a flame. She still remembers what it is like to kiss him when he is clean shaven. There is something about the memory that sweeps her away. Maybe it is the nostalgia of the lifetime she has already shared with him. Maybe it is the promise of the lifetime she will ultimately have with him. Either way, she stands on the precipice of something both familiar and comforting as well as novel and exciting.

They are a paradox of truths.

She longs to wake him, to stay up talking until the rose hues of dawn chase away the indigo of night. She has nothing of importance to share. She simply wants to hear his voice.

And yet there are a million things she wants to tell him. How she has made the difficult decision to close the restaurant through the end of the month, possibly longer if the global pandemic cannot be contained. She will continue to pay her staff while keeping a skeleton crew available for potential delivery orders. It means delaying the celebration she has planned for the restaurant's fourth anniversary. But while she is proud, she is not insensitive. Now is not the time for indulgence.

She wants to share the details of the conversation she had with her younger sister Brianne. How she has settled into the wellness facility. She understands the sensitivity required in dealing with such subject matters, but she doesn't quite comprehend why she shouldn't call it what is really is—rehab. There is no shame in seeking assistance in battling one's demons. At least not in her opinion. In fact, as far as she is concerned, this quite possibly qualifies Brianne as the smartest and most courageous of the family.

She wants to talk about their plans to purchase a home. How she has spent an absurd amount of time searching for properties on the internet. She longs to detail the house with five bedrooms and five baths—much too spacious for the two of them—but the perfect home for everything she dreams. Room for the dogs to run freely. A massive kitchen for her to create new dishes. And most importantly, space to expand their family. It is all she ever wanted.

But instead, she lets him be. His eyelids flutter as he dreams. She leans over, gently pressing a kiss to his mouth. He stirs lightly, a smile curling the corners of his lips. She can only hope it translates to whatever imagery saturates his dreams. It is unfair. She has the advantage.

This reality is better than any dream.

She smiles at the revelation and curls against him, tucking herself closely to his side. He sighs and instinctively pulls her close. This is how it should be, how it always will be, she thinks to herself. And with that thought warming her heart, she closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep.