Page 87 of True Colors

When I see him in the hallway, I have to bite my tongue not to spill everything.

When he texts me about dinner plans, I almost send him a voice memo of me practicing slide seventeen.

I want him to see how hard I’ve worked and how much he means to me.

I go to his place for dinner on my last prep day. According to Dot, I should just relax and not stress about it the day before.

As I ride up the elevator to Luther’s apartment in the Four Seasons, I’m still mesmerized by how my life has changed.

I have a boyfriend. I am dating.

Wow!

I never thought it would happen to me. I never thought I’d find a man I could trust enough to let him in.

Every time he drives me somewhere, rests his hand on my knee at a stoplight, and when his doorman welcomes me, all of it feels surreal.

This is someone else’s life. Not mine.

I love spending time at his place, not because Finn isn’t there, but I think he’s more at ease in his own milieu.

His apartment is immaculate, all clean lines and good light, windows framing the city like a painting.

He cooks and moves around the kitchen with the same ease as Finn.

I sit on the counter, swinging my legs, telling him about the week in fragments that carefully avoid work. It’s important to keep things separate, so we get a break from the stress of the workday.

He’s making duck breast with orange sauce, which he’s done for me before. He poured some excellent Bordeaux to go with it, which he’s also done before.

He’s quiet today. Takes a half-second longer to respond, like he’s distracted. His laughter doesn’t quite reach his eyes. When I touch his arm, he still leans into it—but it feels like he’s elsewhere at the same time.

I tell myself I’m imagining it.

I am, after all, very good at imagining rejection.

Stop it, Anouk. He’s just worried about the board meeting, that’s all. Once that’s done, everything will be back to normal.

We eat at the table on his balcony.

We talk about a book I’m reading. A documentary he saw. Normal things. Neither of us brings up the presentation. We make an effort not to talk about HelixSphere.

But I expected it today, what with him so stressed. He doesn’t broach the topic, and I don’t either.

I tell myself, it’s better this way.

After dinner, we curl up on the couch. He pulls me against him, his arm heavy and solid around my shoulders. I fit there easily now, like my body has learned the shape of his.

He kisses my hair.

When we go to bed, he’s gentle in the way that has come to mean everything to me.

He touches me as if I matter.

Still, afterward, lying in the dark, my head on his chest, I sense it again. That faint tension under his skin. Like a held breath.

My mind starts to spiral.

Is he regretting us?