Saturday did not arrive loudly. It slipped in quietly, wrapped in soft sunlight and the smell of coffee.
Élise woke to the sound of movement in the kitchen. Not rushed. Not stressed. Just the calm clatter of plates and the low hum of someone completely at ease in their own space. For a few seconds, she lay still, staring at the ceiling, letting herself remember where she was.
Zara's apartment.
A Saturday.
No work.
She exhaled slowly and rolled onto her side, listening.
Zara was humming. Badly.
"That woman has no shame," Élise muttered to herself, a smile tugging at her lips.
When she finally walked into the kitchen, barefoot and half-awake, Zara turned dramatically.
"There she is," she said. "The woman of the hour."
Élise frowned. "What hour?"
"Any hour you enter a room," Zara replied, sliding a mug toward her. "Coffee. Strong. You looked like you needed it."
Élise wrapped her hands around the mug, warmth seeping into her palms. "You're too kind."
"I know."
