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The next coupleof hours on Shelly’s couch are filled with me telling her about Kelsey. From the start of our relationship to its abrupt end. And the entire time, Shelly sits beside me, her hand encased in mine, in silent support.
How am I worthy of this woman?
“Thank you for telling me,” she whispers, eyes closed as she rests her head on my shoulder.
I kiss her forehead. “Thank you for listening.” I tighten my hold around her waist and inhale her sweet and earthy floral scent. “Should get some sleep,” I mumble as my eyes drift shut.
Shelly curls into my side, fists my hoodie above my heart and snuggles into my neck. “You too.”
I startle awake, Shelly nestled in my arms. Without waking her, I dig my phone from my pocket and check the time. Quarter to seven. Must have drifted off. Thank goodness it’s Sunday and Shelly doesn’t work today. Neither of us is mentally capable of much right now.
Shifting on the couch, I scoop an arm beneath her knees and haul her into my lap. She groans slightly and I bite the inside of my cheek to resist laughing. Rising from the couch, I walk down the small hall and step into her bedroom. A space that suddenly feels more intimate than a place to rest.
With the curtains drawn and a small amount of light peeking through the blinds, it’s difficult to make out the intricacies of her space. But the energy radiates Shelly the farther I step inside.
Sidling up to her bed, I lower her onto the side I assume she sleeps on since the covers are pulled back. The moment I set her down and remove my arms from around her, she reaches for me.
“Stay,” she says in her groggy state.
The single word weighs heavy on my mind the more it sets in. I am in no condition to drive, but I don’t want to invade her privacy.
Bending over, I kiss her cheek. “I’ll be on the couch,” I whisper in her ear.
Her head moves side to side in slow motion. “Don’t be silly.” She yanks at the covers on the opposite side of the bed then pats the sheet. “Lie with me.” When I don’t move for a beat, her eyes crack open. “Please,” she adds and gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
Sleeping. You’re just sleeping.
“Okay,” I acquiesce.
Once she frees my hand, I move to the other side of the bed and sit. I toe off my shoes then ditch my hoodie and shirt. Something as simple as removing clothes has never felt this rousing. Heady. Potent. Although I hear the soft cadence of Shelly’s breathing as she drifts off to sleep, every nerve ending in me is wide awake. Ready to feel and consume every physical touch shared.
Considering we slept on my couch weeks ago, I shouldn’t be this antsy. Shouldn’t feel this on edge.
But Shelly isn’t just anyone. And as much as I wanted to keep things between us black and white, Shelly showed me how vivid and glorious and breathtaking life can be when you fill it with color.
We have spilled our pasts. Exposed our hearts. And now… we move forward.
I slip beneath the covers and turn on my side to face her. The moment I stop moving, she shifts from her side of the bed. Scoots impossibly close and curls into me, face to face, like the night on my couch. I wrap her in my arms and snuggle her closer. Breathe in her scent and tangle my legs with hers.
Not a minute later, her body relaxes completely. Her breathing slows and quiets. Her palms on my chest lax and leg between mine slack.
With one last kiss on her forehead, I let go of every worry and drift off to sleep with the most incredible woman in my arms.
* * *
The restof Sunday is spent on Shelly’s couch with takeout and more episodes ofDark. With Shelly curled into my side, I have never felt more comfortable in my own skin or life. By no means is my life perfect, but she makes each day better than the previous.
Shelly tells me about the upcoming classes she and Elizabeth will offer at Petal and Vine in the new year. Nothing elaborate, maybe five to ten people, and only once a month.
“Do you have plans for the holidays?” she asks around a mouthful of fried ravioli.
I shake my head with a laugh. “Not yet, but I’m sure my mother will text the day before and demand my presence.” I aim for it to sound like a joke, but with the way Shelly stares at me in the periphery, I must not have succeeded.
I love my mother. I do. But sometimes—okay, a lot of the time—she can be a bit much.
As a child, I never paid attention to her insistence. Never put much thought into her need for perfection. Honestly, at the time, I admired her desire for everything to be in its place or exactly how she wanted it. Friends would come over and describe her as a neat freak or controlling. I shrugged it off and said she just didn’t like dysfunction or disorganization.
Now, as an adult, I see her differently. Especially after college and living on my own, making new friends and meeting their parents, I have a new perspective.
