Page 67 of Trial and Error

She looks over her shoulder, presumably looking for her clothes, and I watch as she pushes the covers away and stands from the bed. I feel myself stiffen at the sight of her naked body in front of me and fight the urge to pull her back in bed and never let her leave.

Bridget looks ethereal as she walks around the foot of my bed to pick up a discarded T-shirt from the floor. Seeing this confidence in her brings a smile to my face after seeing her insecurities peek through the cracks last night. She needed to feel beautiful, and I did everything in my power to do just that.

I continue watching her as she pulls on my black T-shirt and a wave of pleasure runs through me at the sight of her in my clothes, and I’m happy to part with all my shirts and let her wear them from here on out.

My eyes remain glued to her as she opens the top draw on my dresser and pulls out a pair of boxers and puts them on. She turns to look at me as she tucks her hair behind her ear.

“I hope you don’t mind me borrowing your clothes,” she says, pulling at the middle of the T-shirt. “I know the pants are a little snug but the top is⁠—”

Before she can finish that sentence, I’m sitting upright and wrapping my hand around her wrist and yanking her into my lap. She falls onto my lap with a quiet grunt and I tilt her chin until she’s looking right at me. “Please don’t say shit like that, Bids. Hell, you’re so fucking perfect, I’m slightly concerned you’re just a figment of my imagination.”

The smile that blooms on her face is nothing short of spectacular. “I’m real, and I’m definitely here.”

She leans forward and presses a soft kiss on the underside of my jaw and I pull us back until she’s laid out on top of me. A soft, heavenly sound fills the room, and I swear I’ve never heard a laugh quite like it—a sound so utterly mesmerizing I want it on playing on repeat.

Bridget pulls back and sits upright, tugging on my hand. “What are we doing today?”

I raise my brow at her and fold my arms behind my head. “We, huh?” I smirk at her and it deepens when I see a pale pink blush dust over the tops of her cheekbones. “We can do whatever you want.”

Bridget taps her chin thoughtfully. “Let’s shower.”

“Together?”

Mischief twinkles in her irises and I groan at the way she smirks suggestively. “Obviously.” I love this flirty side of her. “Then I’ll need to go home and get some clothes because I don’t think my pyjamas are going to cut it. There’s a farmers’ market and I really want to go, if you’re up for it?” I nod. “Great, and after that we can get a late lunch and just relax.”

I reach forward and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and gently pinch her chin with my thumb and index finger, smiling to myself as she mumbles on about the banana bread she now wants to make this afternoon.

As I watch, an immeasurable amount of warmth spread across my ribcage, and it’s in that moment I realize that if she asked me for the world, I’d do everything in my power to give it to her.

I’m falling for her, I think, but can’t find it in me to rein in these feelings. I could distance myself to prolong it, but what’s the use? I know it’s coming and I’m so fucking ready for it to consume me, but I’m not quite sure if she’s there with me—ready to make that jump.

The farmers’ market in East Briarwood is packed, but Bridget is in her element. After our long, long shower together, we went back to her apartment so she could get changed. She’s wearing a pair of cream pants that hug the curves of her perfectly and a chunky navy sweater that complements the colour of her eyes. Her blonde hair is slicked back into a ponytail that sits on the crown of her head with a white bow tied around it. I tried to convince her to wear her shark slippers but she threw them at me as she tucked her feet into the white sneakers she’s wearing.

Her arms are tucked into the handles of a small wicker basket, and she’s wearing a small tan crossbody bag.

The air is cooler and the signs that summer is leaving is apparent as the late September breeze blows over my face. Bridget walks ahead of me slightly, and I watch in a state of bliss as she moves from stall to stall, speaking with the vendors as she goes.

Every person she speaks to has a smile on their face as she converses with them, and I can’t help but feel envious of them for being on the tail end of her smiles. Her laugh is quiet, but captures the attention of almost everyone who walks past her.

Two high schoolers look at her with adoring gazes and elbow each other as they let their eyes roam her curvaceous body. My chest tightens with a rage I can’t control as I step forward and wrap an arm tightly around her waist and tug her into me.

Bridget looks up at me over her shoulder and the expression she greets me with steals the air from my lungs. The corners of her eyes wrinkle at the edges as a big grin pulls at her glossy lips. She stays leaning against me while she watches the man at the stall as he puts several different fruits in different paper bags. Peaches, greengages, pears, nectarines, and plums are handed over to her, and she gently places them in her basket and pays him.

The next stop is a vegetable stand, and then after that we walk over to a lady who is surrounded by a colourful array of flowers. The woman beams at Bridget with familiarity, and Bridget lets go of my hand to walk toward her.

The lady—no older than fifty or so—wraps her arms around Bridget, giving her a tight squeeze, a handful of beaded bangles and silver bracelets moving up and down her right forearm. Her long greying hair falls just above her hips, and as she moves it away from her face, I see a few dreadlocks woven into her full head of hair.

Intricate floral ink twists up her bracelet free arm and up to her shoulder. The tattoos are monochromatic and crisp, each line drawing your attention in. There are a few specks of muted colours—blues, purples, and greens—while most of her tattoos have small pieces of white detailing. Her skin is tan and leathery, and I watch as she dips her ring-clad hand into her jumper and pull out a business card. Bridget graciously accepts it and tucks it into her handbag.

“Elias,” Bridget calls out and waves me over. “Come here.”

As I step closer, the scent of eucalyptus and soil fill my nostrils, and I feel immediately relaxed in this woman’s presence. She smiles up at me, and as I take a closer look, I notice the small tattoos that sit on either side of her face.

A hand weaves through mine, and I smile at Bridget as she gives my hand a squeeze. “This is my mom’s sister, Harriet.”

I raise my brows as I take in her aunt’s appearance. She’s dressed in lose hanging trousers and a white vest top with a crocheted kimono over the top. She is nothing like Vivienne.

“We’re half sisters,” Harriet explains as she pulls me into a warm hug. “It’s so nice to meet your fiancé, little dove.”