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“On second thought,” he yawned, “bacon and eggs would be perfect.” 

I opened our bedroom door to discover a neatly folded stack of laundry placed. thoughtfully at the threshold, a handwritten note resting on top. 

“Your fiancée is awake,” I announced, watching Bernard groan at the reminder of his impulsive proposal. 

“You mean our resident voyeur,” he grumbled, though without genuine irritation. As he rose, a subtle wince crossed his features, his hand instinctively moving to his lower back. 

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” he muttered, catching my satisfied expression. 

“I didn’t say a word,” I replied innocently, admiring the way his muscles flexed as he pulled on his boxers. 

I checked my phone before stepping into the hallway. Everything gleamed with immaculate attention, as though invisible hands had erased all evidence of our passionate 

night. 

“She made breakfast?” Bernard appeared beside me, nodding toward the kitchen where two covered trays waited, each with another note attached. 

“It’s barely past dawn. When did she find time for all this?” I wondered as we descended 

the stairs. The guest room stood empty, bed perfectly made as though no one had slept 

there. 

I read her note: I know this probably doesn’t compare to Chef Clement’s culinary expertise, but I prepared breakfast both as an apology for last night’s intrusion and to avoid leaving 

dishes in the sink. 

Bernard stood motionless, staring at his plate with an unreadable expression. 

“If housekeeping doesn’t work out, she could have a promising career in stealth operations,” he observed dryly. “How did we sleep through all of this?” 

He removed the covering from his plate. The presentation was surprisingly artful- scrambled eggs arranged beside strawberry pancakes, perfectly crisped bacon, and golden 

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toast. 

“Well?” I prompted, waiting for his assessment. 

“Too much salt,” he declared, though he continued eating with noticeable enthusiasm. 

I tasted her creation, recognizing his small deception. The food was genuinely good–not restaurant quality, but prepared with evident care. His culinary pride simply wouldn’t allow him to admit it. 

“You’re absolutely right,” I agreed with mock seriousness, “terribly oversalted.” 

“I suppose this means she’s declining my proposal?” he asked between bites, his tone. attempting casualness. 

“Are you disappointed?” I searched his face, genuinely curious about his answer. 

His eyes met mine, something vulnerable flickering in their depths. “Not disappointed, exactly. But there’s something about her…” 

“I know,” I admitted, surprising myself with the confession. “I felt it too.” 

A moment of understanding passed between us–the unspoken acknowledgment that Cerci had affected us both in unexpected ways. Neither of us was prepared to define what that meant, but the possibility hung in the air between us, electric with potential. 

My phone’s insistent ringing interrupted the moment. A kitchen crisis demanded my immediate attention. 

“I need to go,” I said after ending the call. Bernard nodded in understanding as I leaned over to kiss him, my tongue catching a drop of syrup from the corner of his mouth, lingering longer than necessary. 

At the top of the stairs, I paused, glancing toward the guest room where Cerci had spent part of the night. Her presence had introduced an unexpected element into our carefully constructed world–something neither Bernard nor I had anticipated. There was something compelling about her, beyond her obvious beauty. A resilience and quiet intelligence that resonated with both of us in different ways. 

As I prepared to leave, I found myself imagining possibilities I’d never considered before- 

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the three of us together, her delicate form between Bernard’s intensity and my strength. The thought sent heat coursing through me, a hunger different from anything I’d experienced before.. 

I wondered if Bernard felt it too–this unexpected yearning. From the thoughtful expression on his face as he’d asked about his proposal, I suspected he did. We’d have to discuss it eventually, this magnetic pull she exerted on us both. 

For now, though, I had truffles to salvage and a restaurant to run. But as I stepped into the elevator, I found myself hoping this wouldn’t be the last we’d see of her, proposal rejection notwithstanding. 

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