Evelyn’s POV

After dinner, after the laughter and the silly back-and-forth about how not to store leftovers in the oven, we stepped out for a walk.

The night was crisp, a soft breeze dancing through the air like whispers between lovers. London’s quiet hum surrounded us—the distant sounds of traffic, the occasional laugh from a pub corner, the steady beat of footsteps against the ground.

Bryson held my hand like he never wanted to let go which I don't mind.

He ...