His gaze found mine.
“It feels like mine.”
“It is.”
“Not a photograph.”
“No.”
“Not a story you told me.”
“No.”
His palm came to rest against my chest.
“You.”
I covered his hand.
“Me.”
He smiled, but tears filled his eye.
“The feeling came back with it.”
“What feeling?”
“Being loved.”
I pulled him into my arms.
Noah rested against me and held on.
“I don’t know what it means now,” he whispered.
“It does not have to mean anything now.”
“I want it to.”
“Later.”
His breath warmed my throat.
“Later.”
We remained on the couch until his head grew heavy against my shoulder.
At bedtime, he stopped in the doorway.
“Cal?”
“Yes?”
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”
The words were awake this time.
Chosen.
