“You’re an early riser,” he said, as though this were a pleasant surprise rather than an observation.“You’re making coffee manually,” I said. “I didn’t know you could do that.”“There are several things about me you don’t know yet.” The words came out easy, unhurried, nothing like the loaded remark they might have been three weeks ago. Just a fact, offered cleanly. “How do you take it?”“Black.”Something in his expression shifted, approval, maybe, or the specific satisfaction of a small thing confirmed. He pushed a mug toward me across the counter and went back to his phone.I sat on one of the barstools and wrapped both hands around the mug and looked at him in the morning light, this man I had married yesterday, and thought: I don’t actually know you at all.Not the way I’d been so certain I did. Not the way I’d catalogued and filed and labeled him over three years of watching him across conference tables. That version of Sebastian Calloway, the one I’d built from opposition, from
Last Updated : 2026-06-26
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