Chapter 87

The morning light filtered in gently through the sheer curtains, golden and sleepy, warming the bedroom in a soft haze. Somewhere in the city below, car horns and distant chatter reminded them they were still in the heart of New York—but up here, in their cocoon of tangled limbs and discarded sheets, the world felt still.

Abigail stirred first.

Her lashes fluttered open as she stretched, muscles pleasantly sore from the night before. Emma was curled against her chest, one leg thrown lazily over Abigail’s hip, her hair a wild halo of curls across the pillow and Abigail’s shoulder. She looked peaceful. Radiant. Like sunrise personified.

Abigail smiled and traced a gentle finger down Emma’s spine. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she whispered.

Emma let out a sleepy murmur and nuzzled closer, burying her face in Abigail’s neck. “Mmm… not ready to move yet. You wore me out.”

Abigail chuckled softly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Emma grinned into her skin. “Never said that.”

A few minutes passed in that warm, drowsy quiet before Emma finally pushed herself up just enough to meet Abigail’s eyes. “You hungry?”

Abigail nodded. “Starving. But I’m not moving unless you come with me.”

Emma kissed her nose, then her cheek, then her lips. “Let’s go make breakfast. Something cozy. Something carb-heavy.”

Down in the kitchen, they moved like a pair who knew each other’s rhythm. Emma perched on a stool with her bump peeking through one of Abigail’s old T-shirts, sipping orange juice while Abigail flipped pancakes and hummed to a sleepy playlist playing from the speaker.

The smell of cinnamon and maple filled the space as Abigail plated the pancakes with turkey bacon and sliced fruit. She added a dollop of whipped cream to Emma’s stack, just the way she liked it.

They sat down at the little dining nook, sun pouring in, bare legs brushing beneath the table.

“This feels like a Sunday,” Emma said between bites. “Even though it’s… what, Thursday?”

“Close enough,” Abigail said with a smirk.

They ate in comfortable silence for a bit until Megan’s name flashed on Abigail’s phone.

She picked it up, pressing the call to her ear. “Hey.”

“Morning, sunshine,” Megan teased on the other end. “Feeling alive or mildly wrecked?”

Abigail laughed. “A little of both.”

“Same. So… I was thinking—basketball tomorrow? Just a few of us, nothing crazy. You down?”

Abigail glanced at Emma, who raised her brows playfully while chewing on a piece of pancake.

“Yeah,” Abigail replied, smiling. “I’m in.”

Emma leaned in closer and spoke loud enough for Megan to hear through the speaker. “Tell Ashley to come hang out here while you two go sweat it out. We’ll do something chill.”

“Oh, it’s a date,” Megan said. “You sure you’re not coming to cheer her on, Em?”

Emma laughed. “This baby says no jumping. But snacks and girl time? That I can do.”

Megan snorted. “Fair enough. I’ll text you the time.”

After the call ended, Abigail set her phone down and reached across the table to steal a piece of fruit off Emma’s plate.

“Hey!” Emma swatted her hand, laughing. “That was mine.”

“You snooze, you lose,” Abigail said, popping the slice of strawberry into her mouth with a wink.

Emma shook her head, pretending to pout as she leaned back in her chair and rubbed her belly. “Fine. But only because I love you. And because I’m too full to fight back.”

Abigail pushed her plate aside and stood, stretching her arms overhead. “Alright, baby bump, what’s the plan for today? You, me, and the couch?”

Emma gave her a lazy smile. “That sounds like exactly what I need.”

They rinsed off their plates, did a quick kitchen wipe-down, and retreated back to the living room where the oversized sectional and plush throw blankets practically begged to be snuggled into. Abigail grabbed the remote while Emma dimmed the lights just a little and lit one of their favorite candles—a vanilla and sandalwood scent that made the whole space feel like a warm hug.

“What are we watching?” Abigail asked, already climbing under the biggest blanket they had.

Emma plopped down beside her, tugging the blanket over her legs. “Something with zero stress. Like… a nostalgic comfort movie. ‘The Princess Diaries’ or ‘Finding Nemo.'”

Abigail tilted her head. “Let’s do a double feature. Mia Thermopolis and Dory? Sounds like a solid plan.”

Two movies, one food order, and three cuddle position changes later, they were in blissed-out, movie-watching heaven.

Halfway through Finding Nemo, Abigail reached for her phone and scrolled through their usual food spots. “What are you in the mood for? Pizza? Thai? Tacos?”

Emma rubbed her belly thoughtfully. “Tacos. And maybe churros. Or ice cream. Or both.”

“Say no more,” Abigail said, already placing the order like a champ.

While they waited for food, Emma curled against Abigail’s side, their fingers intertwined. The movie played on, but neither of them was paying that much attention anymore. They were too wrapped up in each other—Abigail pressing the occasional kiss to Emma’s temple, Emma trailing her fingers over the ridges of Abigail’s knuckles.

“Thank you,” Emma whispered, looking up at her. “For just… making today feel easy.”

Abigail looked down and kissed the corner of her mouth. “You do the same for me every day.”

The buzzer rang, and they reluctantly untangled to retrieve the food. Abigail came back with a big brown bag filled with steaming tacos, chips, queso, and—yes—churros and ice cream.

They set up a makeshift picnic on the couch, laughing between bites, spilling a little queso on the blanket and not even caring.

By the time the sky outside began to shift into soft pinks and purples, they were curled up once again—Emma’s head on Abigail’s chest, fingers drawing lazy circles on her arm, the churro box sitting empty on the coffee table.

“I wish we could bottle this day up,” Emma murmured.

Abigail kissed the top of her head. “We kind of did. Right here,” she said, placing a hand over Emma’s belly. “Little memory keeper.”

Emma teared up just a little, then laughed at herself. “Ugh, hormones.”

“Hey,” Abigail said softly, brushing a curl from her face. “Hormones or not… you’re perfect.”

And with that, the evening melted into soft background music, belly laughs, and the kind of silence that speaks volumes.