ALICIA
Morning light filtered through the curtains in soft, pale ribbons, painting the room in quiet gold. Broderick was already dressed in blue jeans, a soft flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me with that steady, gentle gaze I’d come to crave. He hadn’t left. He’d waited.
“Good morning,” he murmured when I stirred, voice low and warm, like coffee and woodsmoke.
I blinked up at him, hair tangled across the pillow, still wrapped in the faint scent of him on the sheets. “Good morning.”
He smiled, small, real, and lighter than I’d ever seen it. “Thank you for yesterday,” he said quietly. “I had… the best time I’ve had in years.”
“So did I,” I answered, reaching out to brush my fingers over his knuckles. He turned his hand immediately, catching
