His eye was closed.
“Stay.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“I’m here.”
“No.”
He opened his eye and pushed the blanket back on my side.
“Stay here.”
My heart beat once, hard.
“You’re tired.”
“That is why people sleep.”
“You may wake confused.”
“Then tell me who you are.”
“You may want space.”
“I’ll ask.”
I looked at the open place beside him.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
The honesty made the invitation more meaningful.
“I still want you here.”
I turned off the bedside lamp.
The green glow from the hall remained.
I changed in the bathroom, returned in sleep pants and a shirt, then climbed into my side of the bed.
Noah watched me settle.
“You’re very far away.”
“There are six inches between us.”
“Wasteful.”
I moved closer.
He placed his right hand on my chest.
Not tentative.
Testing.
