Nolan

The morning sun filters through the blinds, casting stripes of gold across Annabelle's bare shoulder. I trace them with my fingertip, still marveling that I'm allowed to touch her like this, that she's here in my bed, in my life, in ways I've only dreamed about.

Her breathing changes, and she stirs, turning to face me with sleep-soft eyes. "Morning," she murmurs, voice husky.

"Morning, beautiful." I press a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent ...