Thunder shook the windows that night, jolting Emma awake, she hated storms. Always had.
When she wandered to her kitchen, a light glowed through the window — Lucas's living room.
A soft knock startled her. She opened the door to find Lucas, holding a thermos.
"Thought you might be awake," he said gently. "The storm's pretty loud."
She hesitated, then stepped aside. "Come in."
They sat on the couch, sipping chamomile tea. The storm roared, but with Lucas beside her, the fear quieted.
He looked at her carefully. "You okay?"
"I don't like storms," she admitted.
Lucas nodded, not pushing. His presence was steady, warm.
"Thanks," she whispered.
"Anytime," he said softly.