The light creeping through the blinds was soft and golden, painting stripes across Amelia’s ceiling. She hadn’t slept well—if she had slept at all. Her pillow was still damp in one corner, and her thoughts had tangled themselves into tight knots during the night.
She stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours before finally rising, her body moving through the motions while her mind lagged behind. She wrapped a robe around herself and padded softly into the living room.
Brad was still there.
Exactly where she left him.
He was sprawled out on the couch, one arm over his eyes, the other resting loosely across his stomach. The blanket she’d thrown him at some point during the night had slipped to the floor. He looked peaceful, like this was the most natural thing in the world—waking up
