The Space Between Us

Chapter 1

Callum was the first thing I felt when I woke, warm and steady against my back, his chest molded to me in that oh so familiar way. Some days I swore that he slept like he was trying to fuse us into one person, his chest pressed firmly against my back as if this was the exact spot he planned to remain for the rest of his life. And honestly, there were far worse ways to start a day than wrapped up in a man who held you like you were something treasured, something irreplaceable.

His warmth sank into me, slow and comforting, the kind that made me want to linger in the space between sleep and waking. The steady rise and fall of his breathing along my neck created a softness in the air, a quiet reminder of all the mornings we had spent together. It struck me the way it sometimes did, that tiny flicker of recognition that this was a life we had built together, with small choices that became habits, and habits that became home.

I remembered the first morning he ever stayed over, how he kept hovering a respectful inch away, unsure if he was allowed to reach for me. I had been half-asleep then, instinct tugging me closer, my hand finding his without thinking. He had frozen for a heartbeat, then let out the softest breath against my hair, as though grateful for permission. Ever since, he'd slept like a man who had silently vowed to never leave that space again.

"Cal," I whispered into the quiet of our bedroom, still wrapped in the heavy, velvety hush of early morning. My voice carried that soft rasp of sleep. "You're determined to smother me with affection, aren't you?"

A low sound rumbled through his chest, half laugh, half that reluctant-morning groan, and he tightened his arm around my waist in response, as if I had accused him of something he intended to commit again and again. He burrowed in a little closer, brushing his nose against my shoulder, and for a moment I stayed just like that, letting the warmth of him settle into me.

Eventually, he blinked awake, the flutter of his lashes brushing my skin. "Morning, sweetheart," he murmured, voice gravelly in a way that always seemed to stroke right down my spine. It drifted over my skin like heat itself.

"Morning," I breathed back. He pressed a slow kiss to my shoulder before I eased from the bed, the sheets shifting softly behind me as he stretched.

The house greeted me with a hush I always loved, quiet, peaceful, familiar. The kitchen waited with sunlight stretching its way across the counters in soft golden stripes, warming the tile beneath my bare feet. There was a tenderness to our mornings, an intimacy in the ordinary, as if the walls themselves understood that the life we were building was meant to feel lived-in and steady and safe.

I started the coffee maker, the familiar hum filling the space and blending with the soft chirp of birds outside the window. The smell of brewing coffee wound through the room.

Delicious.

Footsteps padded softly down the hall a moment later. Callum appeared in the doorway with his hair tousled and his eyes still carrying sleep, but the second he looked at me, he seemed to wake fully, the way he always did. He had a way of focusing on me like I was the only part of the room that mattered.

He crossed the kitchen in a few easy strides, slipped an arm around my waist, and pressed a slow kiss to my forehead, unrushed, lingering. Then he brushed another kiss closer to my temple before pulling back just enough to read my face, his thumb grazing my hip in a tender sweep.

Without a word, he moved to the stove, opening cabinets and pulling out the skillet and ingredients the way he always did when he decided breakfast was his responsibility. It was one of my favorite details about him, the quiet way he cared, the routine he slipped into so naturally, the way he made ordinary moments feel like devotion.