“Just band stuff. Nothing important.”
I stopped. Looked at him. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
I didn’t believe him.
We kept walking.
He pulled me down to sit in the sand. Positioned me between his legs. Arms around me. Chin on my shoulder.
Whispered against my ear, “I like this. Us. Here.”
My heart raced. Breath caught.
I wanted to ask: What about when we’re not here?
What about when it’s real life?
What about Syd?
I didn’t.
Just leaned back into him. Let the warmth wrap around me.
We stayed like that until my legs cramped.
Back in the room he undressed me slowly. Kissed every inch he uncovered. Held me like I might disappear.
I let him.
But when he fell asleep, arm heavy across my waist, hand on my bump, I lay awake.
Staring at the ceiling fan turning slow circles.
Wondering if I was falling for crumbs.
Because he liked “this.” Us. Here.
But he still hadn’t said he liked me.
And the hope that had felt so warm earlier now stung.
Sharp.
Burning.
Like sunburn after too long in the sun.
I closed my eyes.
The baby kicked.
I whispered, “I know, little one.”
But I didn’t.
Not really.
