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I hope not.
What we had, what we will have now and, in the future, was just… it.
It was it.
I felt that to my core and hoped with everything in me that she felt the same way.
I make my way back to bed, a surge of determination and confidence pulsing through me as I clean her up, she lets out a little gasp at my movements, and I state, “I’m staying.”
I wait for the rejection of the statement, I wait for her to tell me that that won’t work, that she has to be up early or whatever the excuse may be. But instead, I get a lazy, content smile that brings my own to my lips and she says, “Well, I’d hope so. You don’t seem the type to tap and dash.”
I chuckle and finish what I’m doing and toss the towel, bringing the blankets up and over us. I settle with my arm under her head and she turns into me, staring up at me with happy eyes and places her hand on my bare chest, running her fingers over my short chest hair.
“I would never ‘tap and dash,’ as you put it.” I run my hand over her hair, staring at each strand. There’s a color to it that has me mesmerized.
“My thoughts about you are frightening but precise
I can see the house on the hill where we make our own vegetables out back
and drink warm wine out of jam jars
and sing songs in the kitchen until the sun comes up
when you make me feel like myself again.”
Jane smiles at my quote and says, “Did you write that?”
I smirk down at her. “I wish.” I chuckle. “No, that was Yrsa.”
“Why did that sound like a fairy tale to me?”
I take a moment to consider her and shrug. “Maybe because what you crave…” I idly run a hand down her arm, reveling in her soft skin as I speak. “Is something simple. A simple life with people who love and care for you.” I don’t mention I’m one of those people.
She’s quiet for a moment and sighs, “I do crave something slower.”
I nod my head, already knowing this about her. From what dreams she’s explained to me, shown me, I can tell with absolute certainty that if she’d had a choice, being the CEO of any company wouldn’t have been her choice. “I can give you something slower.”
She giggles—a sound I literally crave—and says, “So, why did you hide behind your words with me?”
Pausing my movements, I look at my hand where it moves to her hip, creating gooseflesh as I go. I let out a sigh. “Well, I don’t know. It’s what I know, I guess. Talking to you seemed… intimidating.”
“But then you ended up talking to me all the time.”
“Yes.” I smile at her. “You may not know this about yourself, but from a glance, you’re a little intense.”
“Me?” she asks, genuinely shocked. “I’m intimidating?”
“Hell yes.” I laugh at her expression, her eyes wide.
“So that’s why you slipped me notes? Because I… scared you?”
“You weren’t scary.” I grip her hip, because I fucking can and it feels good. “But I didn’t think you would take kindly to the mail room guy hitting on you.”
“And now? Knowing what you do about me? Do you think I would mind?”
“Well, now that you’re sleeping with the mailman…”
She eyed me there and under her intense scrutiny, I fight to not look away.
