The smell of something burning drifted down the hallway.Elena didn’t move at first.She lay still in bed, sunlight warming her bare shoulder, listening.A low male voice muttering.A child giggling.A pan clattering.She smiled.Three months ago, the house had been quiet in a way that felt fragile. Now it sounded lived in.She slipped out of bed, wrapped one of Adrian’s shirts around herself, and padded barefoot toward the kitchen.The scene she walked into made her stop in the doorway.Adrian stood at the stove, shirtless, wearing dark sweatpants, holding a spatula like it had personally offended him.Mateo was standing on a chair beside the counter, cracking eggs with far too much enthusiasm.There were shells everywhere.“You said you knew how to cook,” Mateo accused.“I do,” Adrian replied calmly, flipping something in the pan that was definitely too dark. “This stove won't corporate .”Mateo gasped. “Mama says when things burn it means you weren’t paying attention.”Elena crosse
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