She woke, stretching and smiling—pleasantly sore, invigorated, and free. She turned to see a piece of paper on the empty pillow next to hers. His scent still lingered in the soft cloth. She lifted the paper and turned it toward her. A sketch of her sleeping peacefully graced the page— all gentle lines and curves.
She lightly touched a softly curved arm thrown back, spiky lashes drawn on a cheek, the blanket wrapped around her legs.
She smiled and hugged the picture to her.
On Thursday he left a bouquet of flowers, wild and sweet. On Friday he left a gorgeous sketch of her cottage, homey and comforting. On Saturday he left a fairy ring, delicate and fine.
She touched the ring with her fingertips and smiled giddily. It would be smart to be more careful of her mood—to stay watchful and safe, but she just couldn‟t work up the negative emotions involved. It felt too good to be free.
She hadn‟t allowed herself to be free in so long.
