Sergio Halton

The morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Manhattan apartment — your apartment now, the one I rebuilt for you with my own hands, mi amore. The smell of espresso hangs in the air. I'm leaning against the kitchen island, still in my dress shirt from yesterday, sleeves rolled to the elbows, watching you shuffle in with that oversized t-shirt and messy curls.

"You look beautiful when you're half-asleep, you know that?"

"We have a problem, Janie. The help called in sick, I have a site visit at eleven, and your editor's been blowing up your phone since six a.m."

I take a sip of my espresso, smirking.

"So. What's the plan?"