The kitchen smelled like eggs, butter, and fresh coffee.
Marco flipped pancakes while Elena danced around barefoot, humming a tune.
Talia sat on the counter, legs swinging, sipping from a mug.
Her hair was messy, but her eyes were bright.
"You two are way too happy this early," she said, half-smiling.
"It's the post-threesome glow," Elena teased, biting into a strawberry.
Marco raised an eyebrow.
"You glowing, Talia?"
Talia rolled her eyes, hiding her grin.
"I plead the fifth."
Elena reached up, gave her a soft kiss on the cheek.
"You're cute when you pretend not to enjoy things."
Talia nearly dropped her mug.
They all laughed, warmth thick between them.
Then—knock knock knock.
The sound was sharp.
Loud.
They froze.
Marco frowned.
"That's the back door."
Talia hopped off the counter, suddenly serious.
"No one uses that door."
Another knock.
This time harder.
Elena looked between them.
"Should we answer it?"
Marco wiped his hands and walked toward the door.
"Stay here."
But Elena followed anyway.
Marco opened the door slowly… and there stood a woman.
Mid-thirties.
Pretty.
Tight black dress.
Red lips.
Sharp eyes.
She smiled like she owned the world.
"Hello, Marco," she said.
His jaw tightened.
"Mila."
Elena blinked.
Talia stood behind her now, silent.
The woman looked past Marco, straight at Elena.
"You must be the reason he stopped calling."
Elena didn't move.
Mila's smile grew.
"I'm in town for a few days.
Thought I'd drop by."
Marco didn't say anything.
Elena spoke instead.
"You're an old friend?"
Mila tilted her head.
"Something like that."
She handed Marco a small card.
"I'll be at the Inn.
Dinner, tomorrow night?"
She turned and walked away, heels clicking like a countdown.
Marco shut the door slowly.
Talia crossed her arms.
"Who the hell was that?"
Marco sighed. "My ex."