The morning sun hit Miami like a blunt instrument — bright, hot, unapologetic. I woke to the sound of waves and the smell of coffee. Elena had been up since 6 AM. She'd found the espresso machine, figured out its twenty-seven settings, and produced a perfect cappuccino. Because that's what a former Dean did — she walked into a kitchen and took command of it.
"Good morning," she said, sliding a cup across the marble counter. "I've prepared a light breakfast. Fruit, yogurt, toast. The protein options are in the warmer."
"You made a buffet."
"I made breakfast. The variety is incidental." She paused, sipping her own coffee. "Jake, I need to tell you something."
"What?"
"I don't know how to relax. I've been awake since five. I reorganized the pantry by expiration date. I alphabetized the spice rack. I nearly color-coded the fruit."
"That's... thorough."
