Arianne woke against him.
Her hand was on his chest. His heartbeat was slow and steady under her palm. The room was gray with early light, snow-reflected and soft. Somewhere in the house, a heating vent clicked.
He was already awake.
She knew without looking. His breathing had that quality — present, not sleeping. She didn't open her eyes.
"How long have you been staring?"
His voice was quiet. "Not long. Twenty minutes."
"That's long."
"I was thinking."
She opened her eyes. He was watching her without apology. No embarrassment. He'd been watching her for twenty years. Twenty minutes was nothing.
"About?"
He didn't answer immediately. His hand came up and covered hers on his chest. The pressure was light. Present without demand.
"How different this is." His voice was low. "Waking up with you. Not wondering if you'll be here tomorrow."
