It was one of those rare, unicorn mornings that Travis had absolutely nothing pressing to do. No five-fifteen alarm to set in preparation for an early practice, no set time to work out, no filming to prepare for with Jase...sure, he had some interviews later on, but the first few hours of the day belonged entirely to him.
And, as it just so happened, that particular morning fell on his thirty-fourth birthday.
As he peeled himself from bed at around 8, he walked barefoot around the kitchen to make coffee, smiling at his phone. He'd already received some texts from friends and family, wishing him a happy birthday and it wouldn't be long until his parents and brother called. His nieces, too, at least Wyatt and Elliotte, would be clamoring at their dad to FaceTime with him, probably even sing in those adorable voices they had. He could even picture Kylie holding Bennett up to the screen to babble her own birthday greetings.
He took a seat at the breakfast bar with the aforementioned coffee, throwing in a splash of milk. His mind couldn't help but drift back to another morning, nearly a week before and a wider grin than before crossed over his face.
"You're in luck, because I make the best French toast you've ever tasted."
It was slightly surreal to have what had to be, arguably, the biggest popstar in the world, making him breakfast in her kitchen. Slightly scripted, almost, like he was in a movie he had inadvertently become a costar of.
But she was Taylor. Taylor, with her hair in a messy braid, in pink plaid pajama pants and an oversized Springsteen concert tee, fuzzy magenta slippers on her feet. Olivia was rubbing against her ankles as she walked, reaching into this cabinet and that cabinet for supplies.
In the short time they'd gotten to know one another, he'd quickly stopped caring so much about the extra attention on him. It wasn't so much that she was who she was because he didn't give a shit (he wasn't blind to it, either, he knew how incredible she was)... more the fact she was kind and easy to talk to. They shared many of the same values and beliefs, including their respective close relationships with their mothers. He respected her, loved to listen to her ideas, really liked the way she'd begun to view fame as she got older and the strong desire to tune out the negativity in favor of living her life.
"I don't wanna hide," she conveyed early on in a phone conversation. "I'm so fucking exhausted caring about what people think."
And in turn, he had let her know, in the clearest of terms, that he'd be proud to be seen with her, anytime, anywhere.
Her, showing up to his games, in spite of the absolute frenzy it caused and would most definitely cause again today, was a gesture that didn't go unappreciated and while she got the breakfast ready she invited him over to share, he told her as much.
"No pressure, though," she grinned, those blue eyes he loved so much sparkling impishly. "I mean, you don't have to score a touch down just because I'm there."
Impulsively, he stood from his chair, making his way over to curl an arm around her waist. She smelled good, like cinnamon and a scent that was just her own and he nuzzled his nose against her neck, laughing when she giggled.
She turned, putting the spatula down on the spoon rest. Her arms went around his neck, standing on tip toes to brush her mouth gently against his.
Both his mustache and the mere fact she had to stand almost en pointe to kiss him made her giggle again, harder this time, until he softly kissed into the laughter, her lips parting.
They only broke away when Meredith decided she wanted attention right at the given moment (a rare occurrence) and pushed herself insistently in between them.
