The sun set over Figure Eight, casting a warm glow across the water. Wrapped in a blanket and thick sweater, you sat on Rafe’s back deck, glasses on, a forgotten cup of tea beside you as you sank into your book.

It wasn’t just a story, it was an escape, a reminder of how far you’d come from the life you used to hide from. Something steady, something safe.

After everything, Rafe had insisted you move in. The late-night talks, the way he cared for you when you couldn’t, it made you feel like you didn’t have to run anymore.

“You’re quiet,” he said gently from the doorway, eyes soft as he watched you.

“Just reading,” you replied with a smile.

“You look happy.” He crouched beside you, brushing his fingers along the book’s pages.

“I am,” you said, and you meant it. More than ever.

He tucked the blanket tighter around you, his touch lingering, no words needed, just the quiet warmth of being with someone who understood.