I cover my breasts with my hands. If she’s going to sneak out after sex, she doesn’t get to see my tits anymore. “I have coffee in my kitchen.” I point to the coffeemaker but quickly retract my arm when it reveals nipple.

She rushes forward, kneeling on the edge of the bed, her hands out, placating. “I know, but it was going to be loud and you looked so...peaceful and... I wanted to do something nice for you. Get you a coffee and bring you a pastry or something.” She shrugs, picking at a thread on the duvet. “I left you a note,” she says, like this proves her story.

I hold out my hand palm up, and she runs over to the counter, where a piece of paper sits tented beside my laptop. My name, written in her loopy cursive, covers the front fold.

Hopefully you’ll still be asleep by the time I get back but if not, hold tight. Getting you coffee ;). Don’t be grumpy. I’m coming back.

I scoff but place the note on my bedside table, my name up. “I wouldn’t have been grumpy.”

She stares in deadpan. “You’re literally grumpy right now.”

I wave her words away. “You’re not supposed to get me coffee anyway.”

“I’m not?”

“Of course not.” I throw off the covers and run to the closet, pulling on my old BU sweater and a pair of joggers. “I’m supposed to make you coffee.”

“You are?”

“Yes.” I toss a new tank top and sweatpants at her. Sophie catches them with her face and a quiet ooph. “Those are the rules. Put those on.”

She laughs, looking down at the clothes with what I really hope is frustrated adoration and not just frustration. “Amy, I...usually I meet my weightlifting coach in the morning. I have to go home and get changed and go to the gym and then I’ve got to work on some recipes.” Her voice tightens into a whine. An entirely unendearing sound that she somehow still manages to pull off.

“I thought you were going with the risotto?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

She pauses, her eyes narrowing. “Normally, I’d say yes since it’s your restaurant. But I just invested in it so now it’s my business, too. Specifically, the kitchen.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “You purchased the kitchen? Just the kitchen?”

“It makes sense that the kitchen is primarily my property,” she says, a mischievous grin brightening her eyes. “But seriously, I want to do this myself. And right now, the risotto recipe is not working.”

I press my lips together, secretly relieved. Risotto was too safe.

“Fine. You won’t hear anything from me.” I look her in the eye. “I trust you.”

She blooms under the praise.

“But,” I say as I measure enough beans into the grinder for two people. “Rules are rules.” The grinder covers her reply and I mime not being able to hear her. “Put those on,” I shout.