°Amy’s POV°
For a second, I thought my eyes were lying to me. That maybe the tea had done something strange, or maybe sleep had twisted reality. But no—he was there. His voice had already torn through me, raw and familiar in a way that made my chest ache.
“Christian!”
The name burst out of me before I could stop it. I didn’t think about what I looked like, or the cup slipping from my hands and spilling hot tea across Lydia’s rug. None of it mattered. All I knew was the boy—no, the man—standing in front of me, his wide brown eyes mirroring the same disbelief burning in me.
My body moved before my brain caught up. My bare feet smacked against the rug, then the cool wooden floor, and then I was across the room, flinging myself at him like I’d been waiting years for this exact moment.
Tea
