I sit back in my chair, observing him in all his glory.
There’s still an insane physical yearning between us.
That much is obvious.
Every time Marco’s tongue touches the spoon, my imagination goes places it absolutely shouldn’t.
Yet every time he smiles, I feel myself smile too.
Beneath the chemistry, something else is stirring.
Something I’m not used to.
It feels strangely vulnerable.
Finishing the last bite of ice cream, I set the spoon down.
We sit here for a moment in comfortable silence, holding hands across the table.
He looks so peaceful and happy.
Completely different from the man I first met.
I’ve spent years building walls.
Carefully, brick by brick.
Protecting myself from people who only want the public version of me.
And I know it’s still early days.
I probably shouldn’t even be entertaining these thoughts.
But sitting here tonight, watching Marco in the candlelight, I wonder what it might feel like to lower these walls.
To let him in just a little more.
To one day maybe open myself to the possibility of love.
the eighth chapter
AMOS
Alittle over a month later, after hosting back to back events in Hamilton and Ascot, Marco phones me from what sounds like an echoey tunnel.
“Needed to hear your voice after the day I just had,” he groans.
Since our fourth date, these after work calls have become a thing.
I look forward to them every night, no matter how late.
“Let me ease your tension,” I soothe. “Two events in a row is enough to leave anyone wrecked. Where are you?”
“In the bath,” he laughs.
“Oh.”
I fail to keep my thoughts pure.
