My brain has stalled.
Somewhere between the closed door of the guest bedroom and the bottom of the stairs, every useful thought inside my skull has ground to a halt.
Joshua.
When did someone saying my name start holding that much power?
Then again, Lyra is not just anyone.
I drag both hands over my face and stand there for a few seconds, caught between two versions of myself.
The one who managed to step back, and the one who very nearly did not.
I had done it again.
My eyes had taken a detour.
But then her chin had lifted towards me, and that had nearly broken my restraint entirely.
That one simple action showed that what I had hoped was happening between us was no longer just theoretical; it felt like an invitation.
Joshua, stop languishing by the staircase and come here, Mum s
