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The house on the coast was never truly quiet, but just after dawn, before the girls woke up and the scent of frying pancakes and orange juice filled the kitchen, it belonged to them.
Gary leaned in the doorway of their bedroom, mindful of the creaky floorboard just outside, and peered inside. Dawn was beginning to paint the room in orange hues. The Owens women were night owls, thriving in midnight gatherings and moonlit fun.
He'd always been a morning person. Here on the island, surrounded by the large personalities of the Owens women, the ever present touch of their magic, Gary found a peace to it. A sense of renewal.
The only person awake in the house. On guard. Seeing the day in with a cup of coffee on the porch, breathing in the scent of lavender and rosemary and the dozens of others herbs Sally tended to.
And with his first mug of coffee drunk, and the bird feeder Kylie made refilled, Gary could begin waking the house up. School for the girls, off to work for Sally and Gilly. A fifty/fifty chance the Aunts would be up too. Chaos, usually fuelled by coffee and smears of chocolate.
Gary's favourite time of the day. All the women together, eating a meal Gary had cooked, in no great rush to leave. Easing into the day. The quiet magic of the ordinary, as Sally said. And his privilege to provide.
So he stood in the doorway, just letting himself watch Sally sleep. She was sprawled diagonally across the sheets, one hand tucked under her pillow and her hair a dark silken mess against the white linens.
Even after all this time, Gary felt a spreading warmth simply at the sight of her. Like taking a sip of tea after hours in the snow. A simple sense of contentment. No matter how many mornings he stood right here and watched Sally sleep, he wanted more. Not just one but thousands of mornings like this. A quiet bubble just for them before the joyous chaos of the life they both loved.
Gone were the days he'd stand here and wonder about his place - in her life, in the family. Gone the days of wondering if Sally would change her mind and decide again that the spell of her youth was all that was between them. Brushed away by quiet mornings like this, by nights helping Kylie and Antonia with homework, weekends out in the garden being lovingly heckled by the Aunts and being covered in dirt by Gilly's impromptu soil fights. Worries soothed away by a life that had been worth it all and more.
Today, he just had to worry about whether or not Sally want him to start the coffee or if she was in a tea kind of mood. If she wanted chocolate chip pancakes or blueberry. If she'd accept a kiss without worrying about morning breath.
Sally stirred, her nose wrinkling as she came slowly into wakefulness. A soft grumble, long-lashed eyes blinking open.
“Good morning,” Gary called, his voice pitched soft enough that it wouldn't echo to the rest of the house.
Sally's smile curved bright and beautiful. “Morning,” she whispered, lifting her hand off the bed.
A silent invitation, but one Gary never turned down. He moved to the bed, leaning down to brush a soft kiss to Sally's lips.
She smiled again, turning over to face him properly. “How was the dawn?”
“Beautiful. Peaceful.” Gary shrugged a shoulder, thinking of the birds he'd heard calling, the insects chirping, the herby scent on the air. “No red to be seen.”
“The Aunts will be pleased,” Sally hummed, stealing another kiss. “Girls up yet?”
“Still asleep,” Gary replied. He'd checked on them before he came up. “Gilly looks a little green. How much tequila did you have last night?”
“Not as much as Gilly,” Sally smiled, easy, happy. “She'll be fine. A tonic for the headache, your pancakes, and she'll be ready to charm all the customers at the shop.”
“I might not be making pancakes today,” Gary teased, well aware Sally knew he kept the mixture stocked in the fridge. Kylie and Antonia loved watching him flip them. “It could be a bananas in your cereal day.”
Sally laughed, kissed him again, and slipped out of bed. “Blueberry please,” she called, padding towards the door. “I'll shower and wake the house.”
Blueberry pancakes it was.
Gary could see it already. Aunt Frances holding court at the breakfast table, Jet rolling her eyes as she wove stories about starberries and sky magic. Antonia and Kylie enthralled. Gilly egging Frances on. Sally's smile.
And tonight, when he got home from work before dinner, the joyful voices of the girls chattering about the games they'd played. The touch of sky magic they'd carried through their day.
Not ordinary at all, but a life Gary wouldn't trade for the world.