The soft hum of the early morning filled the kitchen, the golden rays of sunrise filtering through the windows. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint scent of cinnamon, promising a moment of calm before the day truly began. You were leaning against the counter, cradling a steaming mug in your hands, savoring the quiet.

From the hallway, the sound of little feet pattering against the wooden floor grew louder, followed by a burst of giggles. Jason appeared in the doorway, his dark hair tousled and his eyes still a little sleepy. In his arms, Mateo squirmed with glee, his tiny hands clutching at his father’s shirt. The sight of the two of them — Jason’s strong frame softened by the presence of your giggling son — warmed you to your core.

Jason’s lips curled into a grin, his Spanish accent lacing his words with warmth. “Mira, mi amor, guess who was up and ready to wrestle before I even had a chance to open my eyes?”

Mateo squealed, reaching one chubby hand toward you, his big green eyes sparkling with mischief. Jason chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of his son’s dark curls before walking over to you.

“Morning, hermosa,” he murmured, his voice low and soft. He leaned in to brush his lips against yours, the familiar warmth of his presence grounding you.

Mateo wriggled between the two of you, babbling in toddler speak, making Jason laugh. “Okay, okay, tranquilo, little man. You’re not gonna let me have a minute with your mamá, are you?”

He handed Mateo over to you, his arms lingering protectively around the both of you. Jason’s eyes softened, that subtle vulnerability he only showed at home shimmering behind his gaze.

“You know,” he said, his voice tender, “I didn’t think mornings like this were possible for me.” He smiled, brushing a stray hair from your cheek. “But here we are, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”