Mark shifts closer.
“I’m not asking because you need somewhere to sleep, Philip.”
His voice has gone quieter.
Steadier.
“I’m asking because I want you there. Because… I’m in love with you.”
My throat tightens.
He keeps looking at me.
“That weekend,” he says, “the first one… it felt about as close to perfect as I think life gets.”
The words settle over me.
Warm and devastating all at once.
I swallow.
“A holiday version of people is not the same as real life.”
“I know.”
I search his face.
He does not look uncertain.
He looks maddeningly calm.
“Mark.”
He lifts our joined hands and presses his mouth briefly against my knuckles.
Then looks back at me.
“One weekend,” he says quietly. “A week. A month. A year.”
I forget to breathe for a second.
He shrugs one shoulder, almost imperceptibly.
“Let’s take it as it comes.”
His thumb brushes mine.
“But I know this.”
I wait.
Mark’s eyes stay on mine.
“It’ll still feel perfect because it’s you.”
For a second I cannot speak.
All the fear. All the waiting. All the sensible arguments.
