The sleepy guest

I arrive home from work to find Shabbat asleep on the couch, one bare foot dangling over the edge. I put down my things and creep into the room as quietly as I can.

Shabbat’s eyes open, bleary but content. “Welcome back,” Shabbat murmurs sleepily, burrowing deeper into the cushions.

“Welcome back yourself,” I say, lowering myself to the floor so I can look at Shabbat face-to-half-awake-face. “We’re not going out tonight, are we?”

“I baked cookies,” Shabbat says, and I notice that the room does smell of sugar and chocolate and childhood. “Let me sleep some more, and maybe we can hang out later. Okay?”

I lean forward and kiss Shabbat on the nose. “That sounds perfect,” I say.

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