It started with toast.
Specifically, Caelan burning the toast — not badly, just enough that the kitchen smelled like something had been decided slightly too late — and Seren getting up to fix it, and both of them standing at the counter at nine on a Sunday morning with the twins asleep in a miracle of simultaneous quiet and Juno's voice coming through Seren's phone on speaker.
"I need to know what kind of wedding you want," Juno said.
Seren looked at the toast.
"We haven't talked about—"
"I know you haven't talked about it. That's why I'm asking." A pause. "Damien and I are planning ours. I want to know if we're doing this together or separately."
Caelan looked at the phone.
Then at Seren.
"What kind of wedding do you want," Seren said to Caelan.
Caelan picked up his coffee.
"Small," he said. "Specific. Nothing that requires performance."
Seren looked at the phone.
"That," he said.
"That's not a plan," Juno said. "That's an adjective."
"It's two adjectives."
"Seren."
