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"It's stress."

"Could be."

I know that tone. It's the one he uses when he's allowing me to arrive at the correct answer on my own.

I push myself upright and immediately regret the decision. "I'm fine."

"You sprinted here like the building was on fire."

"I made excellent time, though."

One corner of his mouth twitches. "I'm making breakfast.”

"I don't want breakfast."

"You never want breakfast."

I groan. "Breakfast sounds terrible."

"You’ve got to eat."

"Is that the law?"

"My house, my rules."

I glare at him. “Can’t a body just die in peace?”

“Depends whose body. In your case, no.”

“I should warn you that my favorable opinion of you is rapidly changing.” I wave him toward the door. "Go be productive somewhere else."

Ashby studies me for a beat before stepping forward. He bends down and presses a kiss to my forehead.

The simple gesture of affection catches me every time.

His hand brushes my hair back. "Get dressed. We're spending the day with your family."

Three weeks ago, finding Maggie felt impossible. Now she's sitting across from me at Fern's Diner, arguing with Lucy over a stack of pancakes while syrup threatens to overtake half the table.

Life has a strange sense of humor.

"Chocolate chips count as breakfast," Lucy says, clutching her fork like she's presenting evidence in court.

Maggie leans back in the booth and arches a brow. "Based on what research?"

"Based on me being right."

Maggie laughs. "That's not research."

"It is if I say so."

I choke on a laugh and reach for my coffee.

Maggie points her fork at her daughter. "That expression right there? Lose it."

Lucy widens her eyes.

"See? That's exactly the one I’m talking about."