[119 Days Left to Live]
Kendrick leaned back slightly in the high-tech room's swivel chair, arms folded, his gaze fixed on the large monitors in front of him. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes weren't really focused on the data or the silent flickering feeds scrolling past the glassy screens. No, his thoughts were elsewhere—in the kitchen, in the faint scent of eggs and sautéed onions.
His fingers tapped absently against the metal armrest as he recalled it again. That image. Zephany with a slightly oversized apron tied around her waist, hair pulled up in a messy bun, forehead streaked with flour. That moment she turned around, wide-eyed and flustered, when she noticed him standing there. And then that smile she gave him later, soft and shy, when she said, "Fine, I'll leave it up to you, my husband."
His grin widened. The words still echoed in his chest.
