He reached, scowling before he even opened his eyes over the lack of a warm body beside him. The spot still held a little heat, but no person was present. He'd had a plan. A very good, very well-thought out plan.
She was supposed to be curled in her spot beside him, still snuggled contentedly between him and the pillows she insisted on keeping close. When started to get up, she would murmur something groggily, and he would shush her with a kiss to her forehead and by tucking the pillows and blankets around her before making his way downstairs.
But it wasn't working out like he'd planned, not one single bit. He didn't like it when his plans didn't work out, especially the good plans. Belle required a cuppa to get her started, which he usually started while she took a few moments in the restroom before meeting him downstairs. She would see to some fresh fruit and juice, while he tended to eggs, toast, and occasionally porridge or bacon. It was an easy routine, familiar. Breakfast was eaten at the bar, while he read the paper and she struggled to fully awake, sometimes borrowing sections to read for herself or occasionally asking him to read stories aloud when she felt more lucid.
The evening before he had carefully mixed together some batter for her favorite muffins, banana nut. It was chilled and only needed to be scooped into the muffin tin and baked. He'd planned out the whole thing. Fresh orange juice purchased the day before. Rumplestiltskin had some roses that should be hitting peak bloom now, easy to clip one or two for the breakfast tray. He'd meant to surprise her with breakfast in bed on this late autumn Sunday. And keep her in bed as much as he could today.
And she was missing already. He'd found his bed clothes waiting on the night stand (no telling exactly where they had landed last night), and had struggled into them and was halfway down the steps when she appeared at the foot. Clad in his robe and her own pair of house slippers.
Her smile was unusually bright for the early hour, and she was holding a tray in both hands. Her smile fell a tiny bit. "You're meant to be sleeping."
"Very much awake, my bed was cold," he easily replied, pouting—yes, he had to admit it was a pout—as he added that last bit.
The smile brightened a bit, a hint of teasing in those blue eyes. She nodded toward their room. "It won't be for long. I saw the muffin batter last night, and you're always baking. It's my turn to do the cooking. Besides, I haven't burnt anything in ages."
He nodded slightly, "I'm not going to back to an empty bed, then?"
She shook her head slightly and gave the firmest stance she could with her hands full of the tray. Under different circumstances, they would be on both her hips in indignation. "Well, I'm having breakfast in bed, and I'd hoped for company."
"Only too glad to oblige, sweetheart," he chuckled, turning and wondering what, exactly, she might or might not be wearing underneath. Breakfast in bed was definitely a good plan.