Soft kisses trail across his chest and stomach.
Body and soul, we fold into each other.
the seventeenth chapter
AMOS
Weeks fold into each other.
Coffee sips and stolen kisses between appointments. Long evenings tangled on the couch.
Heavenly mornings when the world is ours alone.
Five months isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things.
Yet somehow, I already know I’m toast when it comes to this man.
Our connection tipped past the point of casual before we had time to sidestep the whirlwind.
I feel it most clearly on the nights we’re not together.
It’s healthy to have a little breathing room.
But when Marco’s shoes aren’t by the door and his laugh isn’t echoing from the kitchen, something in the room feels subtly wrong.
Almost as if he’s now been woven into every inch of my space, my routine, my heart.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, as though part of me is missing.
I still have questions about his past.
About the things he seems to be running from.
I’m doing my best to be patient.
I never push.
Yet ever since he told me that he didn’t grow up around here, something has shifted.
He’s started to peel back layers that were hidden before.
As if the way that I love him gives him permission to finally be himself.
At least I hope that’s how he feels.
He does so many country boy things without noticing, and it melts me every time.
He can tell which way is true north just by looking at the sun.
He can identify trees or birds at a glance, casually naming them as we walk through the park.
And when a gecko ran across the tiles the other day, he scooped it up and named it Frankie.
On the outside, he’s still my Marco.
The polished suave corporate guy who loves designer shoes and expensive sheets.
But tonight, the walls begin to crumble even further.
