An image comes into view: two dark, stormy eyes attached to a familiar face, scruff along his jawline, and brown, disheveled hair. His hand strokes my cheek. Just a graze. A fleeting, tender touch. The gesture douses me in warm tingly peace as I slowly twist my head to the side and blink up at him, knowing, believing, with every tortured piece of my soul— “Isaac,” I breathe out. His expression changes. He glances around, face hardening as his jaw tics and his muscles clench.
