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His hand reaches out as though to touch me, and I flinch involuntarily. My body reacts before my brain can come up with a reason for the action.
This man isn’t a threat. I know it, but my body doesn’t know better.
Like he can read my mind, he slows his movement this time. When I feel the warm tips of his fingers against my face, moving the hair in my eyes behind my ear, I shiver again. This man’s touch is intoxicating, and I’m growing addicted to the feeling of tension escaping my body at his nearness.
It’s him.
It must be him.
The voice I heard. The touch I felt while I was recovering. The presence who brought back my sense of peace. Despite everything, a part of me feels safe with this man. He must be the presence I have become so attuned to over the past few days.
There is no sense to it, but the feeling that he is essential confronts me. Something in my soul says I should embrace this man and what he offers; his protection and care.
“I’m Griffin. Do you have a name?” He laughs a little at himself. “Well, of course you do. Sorry. I’m gonna start over. My name is Griffin, or Griff to those who like me. What’s yours?”
It’s such a formal introduction, yet still so genuine. I would have laughed if I the energy.
“You know what? Doesn’t matter.” His face is soft and relaxed. His fingers haven’t left my skin, though they’ve traveled to trace circles at my wrist with a feather touch. We share a comfortable moment of quiet like ones between couples who have been together forever. Where simply being in the other’s presence is a comfort. “Wanna sit up?”
I merely nod at the suggestion. If I’m being honest, I want his hands to stay on me. You would think I would continue to recoil at his touch, but it’s almost like the only time my body relaxes is when he’s touching me. My body craves this man. I need him.
His arm reaches beneath me and pulls me up to his chest, and the blanket that encompassed me falls down. My hands automatically move to rest on the defined muscle there. He grabs some extra pillows and stacks them behind me. Though he tries to set me back to rest, my hands search for his neck. I don’t want to let go.
He pulls his head back a little to look at me with curiosity. I see the question there but don’t know how to respond. Neither of us move to release the embrace. But the moment grows awkward soon enough.
A cough escapes my throat.
“How about I grab you a glass of water?” he asks.
It doesn’t look like he really wants to leave, but his suggestion gives us both an easy out rather than dealing with whatever is building between us.
The man, Griffin, moves to the kitchen. Opening a cabinet and then the fridge, I hear him pour. Some extra rustling makes my head turn. He walks back over with the water and a parchment bag.
“Here you go,” he says, handing me a glass. “If you’re up for it, I grabbed chocolate croissants from the bakery around the corner this morning.”
It’s such a sweet gesture. I regret having to shake my head at him.
“What, not a sweets person?”
Shaking my head, I think about how to best explain. Finally, I motion to my throat and make a clenching gesture with my fist.
He looks puzzled for a moment, but then it seems to dawn on him. “Oh, are you allergic? Like you can’t breathe because of it?”
“Gluten.” I manage to summon my voice back for this.
The elation that comes over his face at one simple word could power a small city. I have no idea how much I’m capable of speaking, but his reaction is worth every effort.
What a stupid first thing to say to this man.
Stupid voice.
Stupid food allergies.
During my week of captivity, I almost wished they did feed me something. That way, there was a chance of having a fatal anaphylactic reaction. It would have been preferable to everything I endured, remembered or not.
I hear him chuckle. I love the sound. It’s rumbly and warm, and it brings levity to the room.
“Okay, well, we will have to get more details out of you about that later, but I do want you to eat something. Do you think you could get a smoothie down?”
