The next morning, I woke up to the smell of breakfast from the kitchen. I went downstairs in my pajamas and saw Vito at the stove, wearing an apron, frying bacon.Sunlight spilled through the window and settled over him like a golden blanket. His left hand was still wrapped in bandages. His movements were rather clumsy, but they couldn't mask his intense focus."You're up."Vito turned and looked at me, smiling. "Go wash up. Breakfast's almost ready."I walked over and looked at the pan of sizzling bacon, toast already done on the side, eggs plated up. A warmth brewed in my chest."Your hand," I said, pointing at the bandage."It's fine. Just a small cut," he said, waving it off. "The doctor said as long as I don't get it wet, it'll heal soon."I didn't reply, but took the spatula from him. "Let me do it."Vito paused for a second, then smiled. "Sure."He stood next to me, watching as I finished plating the bacon and poured the milk into glasses. Out of the blue, he popped a q
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