These were his favorite mornings—the kind where the sun stayed hidden and the marine layer cooled the air.
He kissed her neck, took her hand. They were late, so he grabbed a scooter, and they tore down the sandy bike path, double Dutch style.
He picked up speed, launching off a curb. She made that little noise—the one that slipped out when she wasn’t sure whether to be nervous or excited.
Flying past the morning joggers, he smiled, watching her perfect little hands grip the bars, her head tipping back against his chest.
She trusted him. He knew that.
Her hair whipped across his face in the wind.
“I love you,” he whispered—just quietly enough that she wouldn’t hear.