Sophie is usually the one who arises first, out of habit, but then remembers that she is not the cleaning lady anymore; she's Mrs. Howell Jenkins and she can tell her husband to cook his own breakfast if he should complain. (Which he usually does. Howl got very good at cooking eggs and toast the first few months of their marriage.)
She stirs and looks over at Howl, who is still sleeping messily on his stomach beside her, limbs thrown haphazardly wide, hair mussed and sticking every which way. His bare shoulders look cold, and blushing just a little at his comfortable nakedness, she pulls the covers up to the back of his neck and tucks some of his hair back and off his face. She settles down and gazes out the window until she falls back asleep.
Howl wakes not long after, a hand tentatively reaching out under the covers until he finds Sophie's shoulder, and then he breathes a sigh of relief to know that she hasn't come to her senses and left him yet. His eyes creak open catch sight of silvery hair glinting in the sun spilling through the curtains. Sighing as he realizes how late it is, Howl rolls out of bed and dresses quickly. He tiptoes around the bed and stands watching his sleeping wife for a few moments, then tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, kisses her cheek softly, and quietly creaks down the stairs.
When Sophie awakes again, it's to the smell of fresh coffee and bacon. She rolls over and her eyes open to the sight of a breakfast tray on the other side of the bed. There is a fresh daffodil in a small vase sitting in the middle (not a rose - she thought roses were too pretty, and preferred simpler flowers).
Smiling, she sits up and pulls the tray towards her as she hears a small explosion and wild, joyful yelling coming from her husband's workshop below.