Sunday, October 22nd, 10:27 AM

Honey stood in the kitchen, barefoot and comfortable in leggings and one of Grayson's old t-shirts, preparing brunch for their guests. She wasn't going to dress up. She didn't feel the need to. It was Sunday and they were home. Honey had insisted on cooking herself despite Grayson's repeated offers to order in.

"I like cooking," she explained, slicing fresh strawberries for the French toast. "And I'm good at it. It relaxes me. Cooking is all about numbers and ...