Penelope pov

The week has blurred into this perfect, lazy rhythm. Mornings start slow with coffee and murmured conversation on the porch, watching snow dust the pines. Afternoons are for hiking trails until my calves burn and my cheeks sting from the cold, then collapsing together on the couch with books or playing pool in the game room, laughing when Timothy sinks the eight-ball and pretends he didn’t cheat. Evenings melt into firelight, wine, and the kind of intimacy that feels like ...