EMMA
I wasn’t expecting anyone that morning, not after the emotional spiral I had barely pulled myself out of the night before, so when a soft knock sounded on the door of my workshop, my heart lurched into my throat.
I wiped my palms against my jeans, trying to gather myself. “Come in?”
The door swung open, and there he was.
Gabriel Moreau filled the doorway the way winter filled the world in a quiet, powerful way, impossible to ignore. Snow dusted the shoulders of his dark coat. His hair was windswept. And his eyes… those green eyes softened the moment they landed on me.
“Morning, Emma,” he said, voice low, almost careful.
“Morning.” My throat suddenly felt too small. “I was just… working.”
He nodded, stepping inside. “I know.” Then he hesitated, which was strange. Gabriel wasn’t
