Olivia Westview
The candlelight cast a warm glow over the table, illuminating James’s face in a way that made my heart ache.
There was something almost surreal about this moment, as if I had stepped into a dream and hadn’t quite woken up yet. The realization that this wasn’t a dream—that it was my reality—made my chest tighten.
James’s hand was still resting on mine, his thumb brushing lazy circles against my skin. It was such a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes, as though he was silently telling me, I’m here. I’m yours.
“This feels different,” I said softly. My voice wavered slightly, but I didn’t care. If there was anyone I could be vulnerable with, it was James.
He tilted his head. “Different how?”
I looked down at our joined hands, the way his larger hand enveloped mine. “Lik
