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“At first,” he begins. “I said it as a reflex when I saw your blonde hair and tan skin in that tiny Sunny’s tank top, but then… I don’t know, it seemed like every time I saw you, all the dark clouds parted over my head. You’d smile at me and…” He trails off, leaning his head to the side, looking at me thoughtfully. “Your smile has been the brightest light in my life,” he says earnestly.
That silly black tank top with the golden suns, I swear I’ll keep it as a memento for the rest of my life it means it helped set this relationship in motion. No one has ever made me feel so special, the weight of it is staggering. My heart wants to burst with all the love I have to give and I desperately want him to be the one I give it to.
“I noticed you for weeks. At the library,” I clarify. “Every time you came in I couldn’t stop looking at you. Latisha poked fun at me and begged me to ask you out. Obviously, I didn’t have the courage, but when I saw you at the bar that first night…” I hesitate, not sure how much I want to admit.
“What?” He asks patiently.
“I was dying. You were so nice to me and so hot.” I cover my face, embarrassed all over again. “I felt like a fool.”
“Thea. Look at me,” he says, waiting until I do. “You were the most stunning woman in the bar that night. You’re the most stunning woman, period. Every man in there was salivating over you, including me. You don’t realize how much power you have. You could’ve wagged your finger at me and I would have fallen to my knees at your feet.”
My jaw drops at his interpretation of that night. It’s not at all how it felt to me. I felt like a black sheep in a wolf’s den. The fact that he thinks I could have power over anyone is ridiculous, especially since I’ve spent years feeling so weak.
Knowing how affected he’d been by me causes warmth to pool in my belly, though. His words give me a new edge of confidence and way too much fuel for all my dirty fantasies. Him on his knees in front of me…
“I don’t look like that normally though,” I argue, still deeply burdened by my usual insecurities. “I prefer not to garner unwanted attention,” I admit bashfully.
“Well, maybe it works for you because this is a small town and they know that they don’t have a chance, but you are not any less beautiful just because you hide behind your sweaters at work.” His accurate assessment of me stuns me.
Of course, he noticed my usual daily attire. He seems to notice everything. Even that first night when he pointed out my eye color so aptly. Most men don’t know their pinks from purples, let alone give detailed descriptions of a woman’s eye color.
“I couldn’t ever see your eyes.” Recalling that conversation at the bar. “I was excited that you came up to talk to me because I could see them clearly for the first time,” I tell him, smiling at the memory.
“I wondered about that.” He smirks at me, making me blush, then winces. “Sorry. I get migraines when I haven’t slept enough,” he explains, rubbing his forehead.
“I can take you back to the Inn if you need to sleep,” I offer, worriedly. I don’t like that he’s in such obvious pain.
“Nah, I’ll be fine. I don’t want to go back there yet.” He offers a half smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Don’t move,” I tell him, getting up from my chair. “I’ll be right back.”
“I don’t think I could move if I tried.” He leans back against the couch again, settling in.
He’s worn out and all I want to do is take care of him, so I hurry upstairs to change out of my work clothes into something comfy. I grab my hairbrush before beelining my way back to the living room. Gingerly, I make my way towards the back of the couch, right behind where he’s sitting.
“Stay still, please,” I request before gently removing his hat. He stiffens slightly at my unexpected nearness, but instantly relaxes, letting me be. I have to take a few deep breaths to calm my mind, but I continue.
Slowly, I touch his sandy blonde hair with my fingertips and soak in the satisfaction of finally being able to do this. Needing a few more deep breaths here and there to ward off the anxiety threatening me, I spend a few minutes mindlessly playing with it before running my fingers through it completely.
This is fine. I’m safe. I’m touching him but he won’t touch me. Not if I don’t want him to. I want him too, but I’m not ready. Not yet.
I take my time, enjoying the simplicity of this interaction. Even working in a few three-strand braids in the longer pieces before brushing them back out with my fingers. It takes me a second to realize neither of us has spoken in a while and when I look, he’s sound asleep.
I don’t know why, but him sleeping in my home warms my heart. I can’t help but smile to myself at the innate innocence. Retrieving the brush out of my hoodie pocket, I take my time working it through his hair, adamant not to leave any tangles behind.
When I’m done, I admire his relaxed state. His arms are folded across his chest making his biceps bulge and his face is serene. The stress has melted off of him and he looks content.
More than anything, I admire him because he’s here like no one else ever has been.
* * *
After a few hours, I’m deep into the second book of a fantasy series I’m reading, when he startles awake, needing a second to come to. The grogginess makes him look young and boyish. I can only imagine what he looked like as a little kid with chubby cheeks and dimples.
“I’m sorry,” he groans his apology, rubbing his eyes after noticing the blanket I had draped over him.
“It’s okay. You’re cute when you sleep,” I tell him easily.
“I’ve never been told that before,” he smirks, running his hand over his hair like he’s recalling where my fingers were. His other hand bumps into his hat where it sits on the cushion next to him. He grabs it as if he might put it back on, but instead sits it on the coffee table next to his unfinished glass of wine.
