“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Elena replied, taking a deep breath.

“When I was younger,” Elena whispered against his skin, “I thought love was a storm. Something that sweeps you off your feet and leaves you breathless.” Julian stroked her hair gently. “And now?”

“I thought the artist might need sustenance,” Julian said, his voice low and warm. He set the coffee on a side table and wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing the crook of her neck.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “My husband passed away last year. We were together for forty-five years. This picture… it captures exactly how it felt to be in his arms. It’s beautiful. You’ve shown that love doesn’t fade with age; it just becomes more profound.”