(Yvette POV)
I woke up before my alarm.
That alone was unusual.
The pale Parisian light filtered through the thin curtains, brushing softly against the ceiling, the edges of furniture, my skin. For a few seconds, I lay still, listening—to the hum of the city waking up, to my own breathing, to the unfamiliar sensation of calm sitting comfortably in my chest.
Not excitement.
Not anticipation.
Just… ease.
My mind drifted back to the night before without effort.
The river.
The quiet walk.
The way Brent had listened—really listened—without pushing, without asking for more than I could give.
I want to know you more.
The words echoed faintly, not with pressure, but with warmth.
I sat up slowly, brushing my hair back, and let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
When was the last time a morning had started like this?
