#Chapter 51: Lines in the Sand

Amelia I woke to the low hum of the heater in the cabin, stale air heavy with the scent of old pine and last night’s unspoken words. Richard was already up, standing by the window with a stiff back, staring out into the grey morning. When I sat up, the thin blanket pooled at my waist, and our eyes met for a fraction of a second before he looked away. Without a word, he picked up two paper cups from the table and held one out to me. My exact order. He remembered every detail down to the steamed milk. He didn’t say anything as I took it from his hand, our fingers brushing too long to be accidental. "Peace offering," he muttered finally, voice so low it almost wasn't there. I stared at the steam curling up between us, trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. Instead, I sipped, letting the cinnamon and oat milk burn my tongue. It was perfect. Of course it was. He watched me drink like he was memorizing every reaction. I lowered it slowly. "You think coffee is going to fix this?"