A Day in the Life of Amy

Perfect — here’s **Chapter 21**, a sweet morning-after scene where Amy and Fiona start to find a rhythm together.

The first thing Amy noticed when she woke was the quiet. The kind of soft, golden silence that comes with early morning light filtering through curtains. Max was sprawled on his back at the foot of the bed, paws twitching in a dream, and beside her, Fiona was still asleep—her curls spilling across the pillow, one arm draped loosely over Amy’s waist.

Amy lay there for a long moment, just breathing it in. The warmth, the stillness, the way Fiona’s presence made her condo feel less like a space she occupied and more like a home.

When Fiona stirred, blinking herself awake, Amy smiled. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Fiona murmured, voice husky with sleep. She stretched, then settled back against Amy. “You always look this good when you wake up?”

Amy laughed softly. “Hardly. You’re just blinded by morning light.”

Fiona propped herself on one elbow, studying her with that photographer’s eye that always made Amy blush. “No. I’m not.”

Amy tried to hide her face in the pillow, but Fiona caught her chin gently, tilting her back toward her. The kiss was slow, unhurried, the kind that melted the line between dream and reality.

Eventually, Max barked at the window, demanding his morning walk, breaking the spell. Amy groaned, tossing the blanket off. “He’s relentless.”

Fiona chuckled, sliding out of bed with her. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

They threw on sweatshirts and sneakers, stepping out into the crisp morning air. Napa was just waking up—the smell of bread drifting from the bakery on the corner, the sound of sprinklers clicking on in front yards. Max trotted ahead, leash taut, while Amy and Fiona strolled side by side, hands brushing now and then until Fiona simply took hers.

It felt… normal. Easy. Like this wasn’t something fragile or fleeting, but something that could last.

Back at the condo, they made coffee together, bumping shoulders as they moved around the kitchen. Amy watched Fiona measure grounds with surprising precision and teased, “Photographers really are control freaks, huh?”

Fiona smirked. “Only when the results matter.” She handed Amy the first mug, her fingers lingering as they brushed hers. “And this—this matters.”

Amy felt her heart swell at the simplicity of it. No drama, no noise. Just coffee, laughter, and a sense of belonging she hadn’t known she was missing.

For the first time in a long time, Amy didn’t think about what she *should* be doing with her life, or who she was supposed to be. She just was. With Fiona, with Max, with the morning sun spilling into her kitchen.

And it was enough.