It’s early.
The house is dark and quiet and cold. Enough times having my toes curl on the chilled wooden floors, and I now keep socks ready for after when my fingers fumble and find and thump the snooze once or twice.
I shuffle to turn on the teapot and pour Nate’s time-brewed coffee, still hazed with sleep. I’m tempted to do what tempts most of us in th…
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