The sheets next to him are cool when he wakes, curled around a pillow and he's almost positive he dreamed her, dreamed her mouth on his throat, the brush of her slender calloused fingers and her legs wrapped around his hips.
And for a second he aches with it, the throb of *just a dream.*
Until a faint clink of glass in the kitchen brings him conscious to the hint of her shampoo on the pillow he's buried his face against.
Kaidan opens his bedroom door to the rare sight of her in the kitchen, barefoot but clad in her old green cargos and a black sports bra, concentrating on that mildly baffling way she has of glaring eggs into a scramble. Like they'll run away if she isn't locked on target and he can't help the chuckle that bubbles up in his chest.