Page 244 of The Winslow Brothers

Flynn

Daisy is a bed hog. Covers, sheets, comforter, pillows, she will steal it all. I know this because ever since she moved in with me, I wake up with my head flat on the mattress and my body completely bare of anything.

With a fresh cup of coffee in my hand, I step into the bedroom and note the ridiculous way that my wife is wrapped up in the comforter like a human burrito and how her tiny body manages to take up most of the king-sized mattress.

I smile at the scene as I step closer to the bed and take her in. Her wild curls fan out over the three pillows beneath her head, and her eyelashes flutter ever so slightly, as if she’s still sleeping but also still close to waking up.

This woman. She’s absurdly adorable.

The soft sounds of music from one of my favorite operas play through the Bluetooth speakers of my apartment, and I carefully sit on the bed beside Daisy. Coffee lifted closer to her face, I wait for her brain to make sense of the familiar scent.

It doesn’t take long. Daisy loves coffee. It’s her morning go-to.

Her green eyes open slowly and meet mine. They look almost emerald in the light of the day, shimmering like gemstones beneath the rays of the sun that have filtered in through the window.

“Morning, babe.”

“Morning,” she rasps through a still-sleepy voice and clears her throat. A hint of a smile lifts her mouth when she glances down at the cup in my hand. “Is that coffee?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“Nope.”

“What?” she questions and sits up in bed. The comforter falls down her body, revealing miles upon miles of gloriously naked skin.

“I’m kidding,” I say with a small grin and carefully hand the fresh cup of joe to her.

She grabs it greedily with two hands and takes a sip. “Oh, that’s good. That’s real good. And made to perfection. Thank you.”

I know it’s made to perfection. Two sugars with a little creamer, that’s Daisy’s preferred coffee style. After living together for a while now, I know more about Daisy than I’ve ever known about anyone. Her little quirks, her favorite foods, the fact that when she says she’ll be ready in ten minutes, it really means thirty.

“What are you listening to?”

“‘Un bel dì, vedremo.’”

She tilts her head to the side, and a wry grin covers her mouth. “I’m sorry…what?”

“It’s from the operaMadama Butterfly.”

“You like opera?”

“Yes. You don’t?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I’ve never really listened to it.”

“Have you ever been to an opera?”

She shakes her head.

“That’s…sad, Daisy. Everyone should experience going to the opera at least once in their life.”

“Flynn Winslow likes opera. Wow. That is…quite the revelation.”

“That surprises you?”

“Uh…yeah,” she answers through a giggle. “But then again, I’m finding you’re full of surprises. I mean, I never would’ve pegged you as a guy who went to culinary school.”

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