Abbie woke hours later, disoriented, too warm, too alone. Morning light flooded the suite, washing the room in soft gold. Outside, the snow fell steady and relentless, muting the world beyond the glass. The bed beside her was cold, untouched, the sheets smooth where he had slept.
For a second, panic gripped her, irrational but sharp, until her eyes caught the note propped neatly against the bedside lamp.
Went out to get something at my hotel. Coffee is ready. We leave in 30. — K
She let out a shaky breath, relief and disappointment tangling in her chest.
Sliding out of bed, her body ached in ways that were both sweet and humiliating. Fragments of the night flickered through her mind: his hands, his breath, the sound of her own voice when the world had narrowed to only him. She pressed
