We stood inside the bustling departures hall of Denver International Airport, specifically Terminal B, surrounded by a restless tide of travelers moving with hurried determination beneath bright overhead lights that reflected softly against polished floors. The air carried an unmistakable mixture of roasted coffee, expensive perfume, and the faint industrial scent of aviation fuel drifting inward from distant runways. People rushed past us with rolling suitcases, anxious glances, and murmured conversations, yet in that suspended moment, the vast terminal seemed to dissolve into a narrow world containing only the two of us.
Lucas Walker wrapped his arms around me with dramatic intensity, pressing me tightly against his chest so that I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his tailored coat. His embrace felt warm, reassuring, carefully practiced, like a performance refined through years of affectionate gestures designed to convey devotion.
