Morning came softly, slipping through the thin curtains of the Rodrigos’ guestroom in pale gold streaks. Eve woke to the muted clatter of pots and pans downstairs, the comforting murmur of voices, and the smell of fresh bread toasting. For a moment, she simply lay there, listening, breathing, letting the sweetness of this borrowed peace soak into her bones.
It felt like a dream.
A fragile one.
The kind you don’t dare move too fast in, for fear it might shatter.
Ryan was still asleep beside her, one arm draped loosely across her waist. His breathing was steady, warm against the back of her neck. He looked softer in sleep, younger, gentler, untouched by the weight that usually carved shadows across his features. Seeing him like this always stirred something in her chest. A mix of longing
