She woke at seven to the sound of Devon already in the kitchen.She knew it was him from the particular efficiency of the sounds — the coffee maker running, a single cabinet opened and closed, the quiet that followed. Not Liam, who moved through the kitchen with the casual noise of someone who had never once considered that other people might be sleeping. Not Ethan, who made tea and stood at the window and was generally still enough that you didn't hear him at all. Devon made exactly the sounds that were necessary and no others.She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling for a moment.She thought about the clock on the microwave reading 1:41. She thought about the cold mug in her hands and the exact weight of a pair of arms and a look exchanged over three inches of kitchen air. She thought about all of this in the way she'd been thinking about it since she'd come back upstairs, which was the way you handle something that could burn you if you held it directly — briefly, at a remove
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