Amelia blinked awake as sunlight spilled across her face. She stretched lazily, savoring the unusual quiet before glancing at her phone.
"9:24 AM," she muttered when the numbers glared back at her. "Shoot."
Throwing back the covers, she sat up in a rush. No alarms, no tiny humans bouncing on her bed demanding breakfast—something was definitely off. Then yesterday's events rushed back to her: the grueling surgery, coming home exhausted, and that moment with Alan.
Alan.
The memory flooded back—her hand resting on his thigh, those intense gray eyes locking with hers, that electric moment between them. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks and pushed the thought away. Not now, she told herself.
Tying her robe, Amelia padded downstairs, following the soft sounds drifting from the living room. She froze in the doorway, her heart tightening at the sight before her.
