Hugo didn't wake all at once.
It was slow—like the warmth of the sun creeping through curtains, touching his skin, coaxing him back into the world.
The first thing he registered was her scent.
Mint. Soft. Fresh. Calm.
The second thing he felt was her warmth, pressed so close to him that even in sleep he instinctively curled his arm tighter around her waist.
And the third thing that broke through his foggy morning haze was—
Her lips.
Soft. Sweet. Lingering.
It wasn't a dream.
Someone was kissing him.
Someone he loved more than breath itself.
His lashes fluttered, his fingers flexed against her waist, and without fully waking, he leaned upward just enough to deepen the sleepy contact, responding on instinct.
Lea gasped a tiny, panicked breath.
He heard it.
Felt it.
And that—finally—dragged him to consciousness.
