You'd been lost for hours. The book in your lap was good — the kind of good that made the world around you melt away. The sketches on the margins were your own, little doodles of characters and scenes that had caught your imagination.

You didn't hear the front door open.

You didn't hear the soft footsteps cross the hardwood floor.

You barely registered the warmth of a body sliding onto the couch behind you until arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a broad chest.

Then another figure moved into your line of sight, blocking the light from the window.