The warm shower was therapy for Amila's tangled and tight muscles of her neck and shoulders, working them out and soothing the ache that formed from the fear and anxiety that built after the nightmare that snatch her out of slumber. Tired eyes greeted her in the mirror. Her reflection agonized her so she quickly averted her eyes.

A perfect week of shopping with Deja, the excitement of getting to know her new surrounds, and catching up with an old friend. She felt better. She felt calmer and after one terrible nightmare where sorrow from the ones she lost haunted she was right make to the state she was—despair.

She pulled her hair in a ponytail, got dressed and shuffled out the room. She let the robust, rich aroma of coffee call her to the kitchen where music and the appearance of Dominic lift an ounce of unhappiness.

She covered her mouth as she let out a soundless yawn and then breathed in the scrumptious smell of sizzling bacon. She stopped at the island, not letting her eyes linger on the lovely peonies floating in a vase on top of it. No, they settled on the broad back of the man casually standing at the stove giving all his attention to something in a cast iron skillet that filled the house with a sensational smell that called back memories of Sunday morning when everything seemed magically in her life.

She read his outfit for clues; the grey sweatpants might have meant he went for a workout earlier that morning but they were too pristine and so was the crisp white shirt spread over his shoulders. The gold watch latched onto his wrist might mean that he was taking care of business but the backwards NYU cap negated that notion. He hummed along to the easy R&B that streamed from the living room.

She pieced together all the details and deduced that he'd been there for more than a few hours; meaning the sleeping pill she took after chugging a glass water after the nightmare knocked her clean out.

"What are you doing?" She asked, forging further in the kitchen. Now see what he was tending to in the skillet. It wasn't bacon but links of sausage split in half just like her mom used to do on those Sundays she made breakfast from scratch and not the oatmeal that was stable on weekdays. Saturdays she and her sister had to fend for themselves but Sundays were special.

Dominic turned to her with an easy smile that greeted her.

"Making breakfast." He answered, a hint of humor lifted his tone and his eyebrows knitted faintly knowing his actions were self-explanatory.

"But..." She started, casting a quizzical glance at the plates and champagne glasses set up on the island, the stack of buttermilk pancakes, pitcher of mimosa, and tray of speckled eggs resting on the counter top by the stove waiting for their time to fry in a skillet. "...why?"

"Because in the morning people eat breakfast." He chuckled, turning back to the skillet to flip the sausage. "I mean I eat breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day, Mila. I hope you haven't been skipping it."

"Dominic." She tugged his shoulder, prompting him to face her. She peered at him oddly as memories flooded her mind. "When did you get back?"

Last night he was in New York and before that Los Angeles.

"Five something." He fanned the metal spatula around easily like he had much practice with the kitchen utensil. "When I got her you were still sleep so I made myself busy. How was your night?" He asked before turning back to the sizzling skillet.

"Fucked up! That's how." She tossed her arm up and let her hand slap the side of her thigh on its way down. The smack of skin against skin snatched his attention back to her. The therapist that she stopped seeing would've told her she was triggered but her emotions told her she was valid for being angry at his casual gesture. "I don't do breakfast. Pancakes! Eggs! Syrup and all this shit! I don't it!" Her breaths came out fast. "Not anymore. Not anymore!"

"Mila," He quickly told, moving away from the now empty skillet. "I'm—" He paused, taking her hand and placing another on her rapidly moving chest "Take a deep breath. Look at me ."

He inhaled slowly and deeply then exhaled and his mimicked him example.

She took in the first easy breath since last night then squeezed his hand. "I didn't mean to freak out." She whispered. "I had a bad night."

"If you don't like breakfast..." He wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I'll just toss it."

She didn't let go of his hand as he feigned at step to follow through on his words. "I...." She mirthless chuckled with watery eyes. "I actually love breakfast. I love pancakes with honey. They just make be sad." A fresh flood of tears poured from her eyes and he pulled he against his body.

"Then what will make you happy?" He asked peering at her like she was the only person in the world that mattered. "How can I make you happy?"

"Truthfully, I don't know." She stepped out of his embraced and rubbed her drying her face. "But new memories might help."

"Then instead of all that." He gestured to the food on the island. "I make us an omelette."

She sniffed, "A bacon and sausage omelette?"

"If that's what my Swan wants..." He tipped up her chin bringing a faint curve to her lips. "That's what she'll get."

Emotions swelled in her chest and she halted his steps taking a hold of his wrist. "Dominic...if..." She took in a deep breath glancing down to muster the courage to admit a truth. "If...what happened didn't happen all those months ago, I would have answered your calls. I would have called you back." Her eyes began to water remembering what she was doing when she ignored his calls; picking out three urns. "Accepted that second date."

He kissed the back of her hand and said. "I know."

She smiled up at him, thankful for the kind gesture.

"Do you have a passport?" He asked advancing to the fridge.

"Yes." She narrowed her eyes quizzically, "Why?"

"I have business to take care of in London and you're coming with me." He told. "Making new memories, right."

Amila nodded then said, "Isn't it autumn in England. I don't have Autumn in London clothes. I have 'kinda like Fall' Texas outfit."

"We'll pick up something on the way to the plane," He poured mimosa in the pair champagne glasses then handed her one after she dried her hands. He clinked his glass to hers with mischief now playing in his eyes. "We're going to have a great day and an even better night."

She matched his grin, "I can't wait." 

Why do you think Amila was triggered by the breakfast?