“Early.”
“Too early.” He nuzzles closer. “Sleep more.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Then lie here and let me sleep.” He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “I’m comfortable.”
I smile into the pillow. “Demanding.”
“Mmhm.”
He’s asleep again within seconds.
I don’t mind. Don’t feel the urge to get up and be productive, to prove I don’t need this moment of softness. I just lie there, wrapped in his arms, and let myself have it.
This is what I was so afraid of. This quiet, domestic intimacy. The vulnerability of letting someone see you first thing in the morning, before the armor goes on. The risk of depending on someone who could—who might—eventually disappear.
But here’s what I’m finally starting to understand: the risk was always there. Whether I let myself love him or not, whetherI protected myself or not—the risk was there. The only question was whether I’d let fear keep me from the reward.
I was so busy preparing for loss that I almost missed the having.
Not anymore.
Bennett shifts again, this time with more purpose. His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then sharpening as they find my face.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You’re still here.” He says it like it’s a revelation.
“Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know. I kept waking up half-expecting you to be gone.” He touches my cheek. “Old habit.”
“Me too.” I turn my head, press a kiss to his palm. “But I’m still here.” We look at each other for a moment, both of us carrying the same damage from different directions.
Same fear. Different armor.
“So am I.”
We lie there, facing each other, the morning light painting patterns across the sheets.
“What happens now?” I ask.
“Now we get up. Drink coffee. Do whatever needs doing today.” He pulls me closer. “And then we do it again tomorrow. And the day after that. For as long as you’ll have me.”
“That might be a while.”
“I’m counting on it.”
The certainty in his voice matches something that’s finally solidified in my chest.
This isn’t an ending. It’s not the climax of a story that’s about to wrap up neatly. It’s a beginning—the first real beginning I’ve let myself have since I was old enough to be afraid of them.
We’re going to fight sometimes. We’re going to mess up. We’re going to have moments of doubt and fear and all the complicated emotions that come with actually loving someone instead of just wanting them from a safe distance. He’ll retreat into control when he’s scared. I’ll bury myself in work. We know this about each other already—have known it from the beginning, probably, from the moment I walked into his practice with coffee and a bingo card and refused to let him hide.
The difference is we’ll come back.
