The rest of the morning unfolded like a slow-motion romantic comedy. Daniel made coffee wrapped in a towel. Emma battled her post-wedding hair. They joked that marriage came with fine print: shared bathrooms, forgotten towels, and discovering that Daniel talked in his sleep.
By noon, the chaos had softened into something calmer. The honeymoon phase had barely started, yet it already felt familiar—not fireworks, but warmth. Not spectacle, but rhythm.
“You know you’re supposed to use tools for that, right?” she teased.
He looked up. “Do I look like a man who packed a toolbox for his honeymoon?”
“Fair point,” she said with a smile.
He set the knife down and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around her waist. “You know,” he said softly, “I was half-afraid you’d wake up this morning and regret it. Us. Everything.”Continue reading…
