“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Just editing.”
He hums, satisfied, then presses a slow, sweet kiss to my shoulder again.
And I let him, holding on to the softness even as something sharp lingers just beneath it.
It’s late afternoon,and I’m fucking spiraling.
I’m kneeling by the edge of his bed, rummaging through my backpack.
Golden light slants through the wide windows, casting long stripes across the hardwood floor and my open backpack that’s practically mocking me right now.
Seven pairs of underwear, thank God. Two T-shirts, not enough, and a single pair of jeans.
I was in such a rush packing to get here, the excitement of being in Reed’s arms again, that I basically grabbed whatever was in my dresser drawers and bolted.
Now I’m sitting here realizing I forgot most of my clothes, like an actual moron.
My chest feels rigid, not from panic exactly, but from the stupid, embarrassing wave of shame that hits when I imagine having to ask him to drive me somewhere.
I hate asking.
I’ve never been the girl who needs to be taken care of. I’ve always been the one who figures it out, who makes do, who pretends she’s fine even when she’s not. I take care of myself, I always have.
The floorboard squeaks as heavy footsteps come into earshot.
I don’t turn around yet, as I keep staring at my backpack, like it might magically refill itself if I glare hard enough.
The sound of his footsteps halts in the doorway, and I softly hear the gentle clink of ice against a plastic, followed by the gentle thud of a cup set down on his dresser.
“Hey, sunshine,” he says, walking closer towards me. “What’s wrong?”
A wave of humiliation washes over me, my throat working as I try to swallow the emotions down.
Choosing not to look up, I stare at my hands in my lap. “I… I fucked up packing.”
Nothing on his end, as his footsteps still, a tell he’s waiting for me to continue.
I force my words out, quieter than I mean to. “I was so excited to get here that I just threw shit in my bag and left. I forgot almost everything. I’ve got like… three days’ worth of clothes if I’m lucky.”
It’s silent for a beat before his footsteps move closer until my gaze lands on his tobacco brown,Thorogoodleather boots.
He kneels in front of me slowly, as one knee hits the floor, followed by the other.
I finally lift my gaze, and there he is, kneeling in front of me, wearing a faded black T-shirt stretching across his shoulders, his burn scars on full display forme.
His hair is still a little messy from earlier, with that soft half-smile he only ever shows when it’s just us.
He gently reaches out as his fingers brush my cheek first, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Come on,” he says softly.
I blink, confused. “What? Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away, as he keeps looking at me with this simple adoration that takes my breath away.
I never knew a man could look at me this way, not when I’ve been conditioned with anything but this.
He leans in, pressing a slow kiss to my forehead, before resting his forehead against mine. “I’ll take you shopping, baby.”
