EMMA
I was still in the studio when the knock came, two firm taps, the kind that vibrated softly through the wooden door. I wiped my hands on a cloth, half-expecting Clara to burst in with teasing commentary.
But when I opened the door, it wasn’t Clara.
It was Gabriel.
He stood there in a black sweater that hugged his broad shoulders, snow dusting the ends of his dark hair. His breath fogged in the cold air behind him, and for a moment, he looked like something carved out of winter itself,quiet, powerful, breathtaking.
“Emma,” he said gently, “are you free for a while?”
I blinked. “Uh,yes? Maybe? Why?”
His lips quirked slightly. “Come with me.”
That sentence alone sent a flutter through my chest. “Where?”
“A ride,” he said. “Just a short one.”
My brain stalled. “A… ride? On your
