I blink awake, the soft light filtering through the curtains and warming my face. For a moment, I'm disoriented, unsure of where I am. Then reality begins to settle in around me, and I realize I'm nestled in the crook of Lucas's arm.
He's still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. I take a moment to admire his handsome features, my gaze roaming over the contours of his face.
His dark hair is messy, sticking up in every direction, like a Pomeranian puppy whose fur hasn't been trimmed in a long time, and his eyelashes are long and thick like he puts on mascara—one of the reasons why I love his face more than anything—those damned eyelashes, they frame his closed eyes, a small feature that accentuates his handsomeness.
