Mara had fallen asleep.
One arm draped over the back of the couch, the other still loosely clutching her now-cold mug of hot chocolate. Her lashes fluttered gently, her lips parted slightly, and that hoodie swallowed her whole as she belonged to the moment and nowhere else.
Rafael watched her. Not like a man with an agenda. Not like someone who thought this moment meant anything more than what it was.
But also… exactly like a man who wished it did.
He reached out carefully, took the mug from her hand, and set it on the table. His fingers brushed hers, and she didn't stir—just murmured something soft in her sleep. His name, maybe. Or someone else's. He didn't ask.
He sat back, elbow on the armrest, hand over his mouth.
Damn.
He hadn't meant to fall. That wasn't the plan.
He was supposed to be her safe space. Her friend. Her calm. He told himself he was just helping her pick up the broken pieces. He never thought he'd want to hold them for himself.
