***
I wake up early, for once in my life, only because my nap yesterday has me well rested enough on top of the sleep I just had. The house is quiet when I wake, but since I've gotten here, the house has always been quiet. 
I can't remember the last time I've been left alone with so much silence. It's relaxing.
After changing my clothes and making the bed, I crack open my bedroom window. It's just as warm and sunny today as it had been yesterday, the light spreads across the trees beyond his house and if you look really hard, you can see it in the fields, too.
The remembrance of last light lingers in my mind as I head downstairs quietly, in case he's still sleeping. Though the closer I get to the bottom of the stairs, the more able I am to hear a low noise coming from the kitchen.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, Gracie comes running from the kitchen to greet me. I crouch down to meet her, squirming and laughing as she licks the side of my face. "Well, good morning to you too," I whisper, running my fingers through her thick coat. "Where's your dad, girly? Where is he?"
"He's making breakfast," a voice answers smugly from down the hall. I look up, just to find Dream leant against the kitchen archway, his head tilted to the side as he on-looks Gracie licking my face again. Dream laughs when she does.
"I didn't think you were awake," I say, giving Gracie a final rub on the head before I stand up. She rubs her head against the side of my leg, in a way of acknowledgment before she trots down the hall, as if she only came over  to say hello. "What are you making?"
He beckons me forward to the kitchen. I follow behind him, over to the pan where he stands waiting. "French toast," I say, already having guessed by the smell. 
"French toast is right," he nods. He tells me to sit down, and for once I do it without arguing. I do get the drinks first, which he scolds me for, but I can't help it. I'll feel rude if I don't do something.
He serves us both our food, but this time we actually sit at the table. There comes no mention of whatever it was that happened last night, so of course I don't bring it up. If he's not going to talk about it, then neither am I.
"So today," he says, once he's swallowed the piece of toast he'd been eating. "If you'd like, I was thinking we could do our interview out in the fields. Get you a little bit of sun," he adds playfully, "I could bring some food, we could make a day of it, go swimming in the lake afterwards? It might make it easier for you to talk."
I take a drink from my glass before I smile across at him. "Like a picnic?" I ask him, and then, before the words have time to make sense in my head, "are you asking to take me on a picnic?"
He rolls his eyes, but he's trying to cover up a smile as he does so. He takes away my empty plate and stacks it on top of his own. "Does that mean yes?" he says, casting a look back at me from the sink. 
"It means yes," I answer, looking down at my glass to avoid his stare. "Only because I need to experience more of your little cooking specials," I tell him. "Make me something fun."
"Make you something fun," he repeats, like he's making fun of me and considering it all at once. "If I'm cooking, you'll have to do all the packing," he shrugs, turning his back to me when he goes to peer in the fridge. "Do you think you're up to that challenge?"
"I'm always up for a challenge," I tell him, bringing my now empty glass over to the sink. "You cook and tell me what you need me to pack and we'll be ready in no time."
So he does. He completely bans me from out of the kitchen whilst he's making food. I have to track around the house, trying to listen to his shouts of directions from the kitchen to tell me what I need to get and where it is.