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In the aftermath, we lie together on the couch with my head on his chest as I listen to the sound of his heartbeat. He holds me tight with an arm around my back, the index finger on his opposite hand running up and down the bridge of my nose.
“Why do you do that?” I whisper.
“What?” His stroking stalls.
“Stroke my nose.”
I feel his shrug beneath me. “Feels nice, I guess.”
“That's all?”
He's quiet for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. “No, that's not all,” he admits quietly. “I do it because I can. You know when people pinch themselves to make sure they're not dreaming? Guess it's like that for me. It's something I do when the memories of our past are haunting me and I need a reminder that you're here, that you're actually real.”
“I'm sorry, Cole,” I whisper, guilt festering inside of me. “I'm so sorry that I've given you reason to question reality, to check that you’re not dreaming. I’m sorry that I've scarred you so much that you have to touch my nose just to make sure you're not imagining me even when I'm right in front of you. That's the most heartbreaking thing I've ever heard.”
I feel the familiar burn of tears and sniffle.
Cole's eyes snap to mine and he sits up, cradling me against him. “Hey, none of that, okay? I didn't mean it the way it came out. What I meant to say is that you're a dream to me, one I never want to wake up from and touching you is a reminder that I don't have to.”
He captures my mouth with his, using his kiss to give me the reassurance he knows I need right now. With every twirl of his tongue, he tells me I'm forgiven and with every soft caress of his lips, he promises to keep me forever.
With a sigh of utter contentment, he pulls away to watch me through love-lit eyes. Cupping the back of my head in his large hand, he guides my face into the crook of his neck, knowing that I like to nuzzle there sometimes.
I guess snuggling him this way does the same for me that stroking my nose does for him. Surrounded by the pinewood scent of him, it grounds me in the moment, reminds me of what's real and keeps the haunting memories of the past at bay. Nestling my nose deeper into his neck, I breathe in his warmth.
“Cole?” I whisper.
“Yes, princess?”
“I love you,” I say, just feeling the need to tell him again.
“I love you too.”
Then, he laughs, warm and light, his arms tightening around me. And as the sun sinks low outside the window and the sound of birdsong rests until morning, I realize that life has never been better than this moment.
Here on the couch in Cole's condo in Tupelo beats every party, every beach and every country I've ever traveled to. And as I press my lips to the pulse point on his throat and count the beats of his heart, I finally understand what true peacefulness feels like.
With Cole's hand on my head, his fingers in my hair and the taste of him still tingling in my mouth, it feels so good to be home.
One Month Later
“What happenswhen you and Thea go out on dates and stuff?” Crew asks as he flips a steak on the grill at my parents' annual Labor Day barbecue. “Like, who pays?”
“I guess it depends,” I say with narrowed eyes. “Why do you wanna know?”
“Well, I just know she makes a lot more money than you. If it was me, I'd be cashin' in and getting her to pay for everything.”
“Jesus.” I shake my head in disbelief, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. “Mama's lessons growing up were really lost on you, huh?”
He shoots me a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile. “What?”
“I don't give a shit how much money's in her bank account,” I tell him. “If I take my woman out for dinner, you better believe I'm paying for it.”
“Some chicks don't like it when guys cover the bill, you know? 'Cause of feminism and all that stuff. Gotta say, I agree with them. It's equal rights.”
I huff an astonished laugh. “I might find it easier to believe you're an advocate for feminism if you didn't continually refer to women as 'chicks'.”
“What the hell is wrong with calling them 'chicks'?”
