Empty. Then she heard the music. Norah Jones. What was that about? A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. She wrapped herself in a robe left at the foot of the bed and wandered to the living room. She’d made her way into a very romantic setup. Candles were everywhere, flickering, bathing the room in a magical glow. He was sitting on her couch, sipping a glass of wine, casually, as if he’d done nothing at all. The room dimmed with the blur of her tears. At the rustling sound of the robe, he turned and lifted a brow. As one song came to a close, he stood, walked over, and then took her hand. “May I have this dance?” She didn’t reply. Instead, she drifted into his arms. They whirled around the room with no sounds but the hiss of candles and the soft slide of satin on skin. One song turned into another, and before long, the music stopped. She studied his face, so unbearably dear, so unbelievably handsome, and let the robe fall to the floor.
