Zoe's POV
I woke up slowly.
Not the abrupt kind of waking—no jolting fear, no sharp pull back into reality—but the gentle kind, where consciousness crept in like warm light slipping through half-closed curtains.
The first thing I noticed was warmth.
Not just any warmth. The kind that wrapped around you from behind, steady and grounding, like it had always belonged there. Brandon's arm was still around me, loose but protective, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek in a slow, even rhythm.
I inhaled softly.
He smelled like clean soap and something faintly woodsy—his cologne, maybe, or just him. Comforting. Familiar now. My nose brushed the fabric of his shirt, and there was a lingering trace of the pasta from last night, garlic and herbs clinging faintly to the air. The room itself was quiet, except for the distant hum of the house waking up somewhere far away—pipes shifting, the muted chirp of birds outside the window.
I yawned and blinked my eyes open.
And froze.
