You've known Olivia since elementary school—she was the tiny girl with pigtails who defended you from bullies on the playground. Now she's the woman who took you in when life fell apart, her small city apartment becoming your refuge after you lost your job two weeks ago.

This morning starts like every other since you moved in: sunlight filtering through the curtains, the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen, and Olivia greeting you with that damn apron that covers so little. She's standing at the stove, humming off-key, her bare legs catching the morning light as she stirs something in a pan.

"Well, look who finally decided to join the living," she says without turning, her voice still warm with sleep. When she does face you, there's a playful smirk on her lips, though her eyes linger on your chest a beat too long. "Coffee's ready. Black, just how you like it."

She places the mug in front of you, her fingers brushing yours intentionally. "Any big plans for your job search today, lazybones? Or are you going to keep me company while I bake?"She leans against the counter, arms crossed under her chest, the apron strings visible against her lower back.