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Cora erupts in giggles.
“What’s so funny?” I can’t hold the pose, because I’m starting to laugh, too.
She tries and fails to communicate through her mirth. Finally, between giggles, she manages, “Tighty-whities!” and she points at my underwear.
I face her again and look down at my briefs. I do not see what is so humorous.
At my confusion, she pulls herself together. “I’ve never seen anyone wear tighty-whities except Tom Cruise inRisky Business.” She’s smiling, and her eyes are dancing.
“I have a better body than Tom Cruise,” I say, and I start dancing to imaginary music, like the actor in the iconic scene, making sure to show off my muscles in the process.
Cora’s giggles egg me on. I could get used to entertaining my flower.
“Definitely a better body,” she agrees. She begins to shimmy, finding her own rhythm with her arms and shoulders. She comes closer, and we join hands, dancing like fools, me in my underwear, her in her tank top and shorts.
She flops down on the bed, smiling wide, and I’m happy I put that smile there.
Eagerly, cautiously, so as not to break her happy spell, I sit on the side of the bed. It’s covered with a threadbare quilt and has two pillows in flowered pillowcases. These things look old. I will bring her new, nicer things from the storage cabins.
“I’m glad my underwear amuses you.” I feel myself grin ruefully as I recline on a pillow. I remain on top of the blankets, and Cora scoots beneath. I watch her for signs that my presence is not welcome. I will gladly spend the night on the couch if she changes her mind. I would spend the night in hell itself if it helped her sleep better. But she continues smiling. She is happy.
“Sorry,” she says. “I just didn’t realize anyone actually wore those anymore. It’s all boxer briefs or colored underwear, now. At least, in my house, it was.” She shrugs. “I did the laundry, so I folded a lot of guy’s underwear.”
“I like white,” I say. “Makes me look like I have a tan.” I pat my pale stomach and smile down at her. She is so beautiful with her brunette hair spilling over the pillow.
Her eyes sparkle, and she laughs again. It’s addicting, this feeling, making her laugh. She lifts the blankets in my direction and my heart leaps. “Do you want to climb in here with me, Shep?”
“More than anything.”
Before accepting her invitation, I turn the key to extinguish the lamp. In complete darkness, I find her still holding the covers up. I slide between the sheets and find her cool and ready to snuggle.
She presses against me and lets me wrap her in my arms, as I’ve been longing to do since I first laid eyes on her. Her slight weight settles into my side, and she expels a contented breath.
I am afraid to move. If Cora is comfortable, I will not move the whole night. I will hold her and make sure her rest is sweet and safe.
But she is not quite ready for sleep, I learn, as she toys with the blond hairs on my chest. It is my turn to sigh contentedly.
“You seem to know what I need,” she says softly. “Just holding.”
I nod. “I follow your lead.” I will never push her. I suspect she gets enough of that from Jud. “Touch me all you want, my flower. I will only hold you, unless you wish otherwise.”
She accepts my invitation and caresses me all over. My pecs. My collar bones. The deltoid of the arm I have resting across her waist. Down my arm to my wrist. She fingers the studded leather band I keep wrapped there. Like its twin on my other wrist, it never comes off.
Internally, I tense. I try not to let it show that her touch there makes me uncomfortable.
“You sleep with these on?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“It’s not uncomfortable?”
“No.”
I cannot see her, but I can feel her scrutiny. Her gaze is on my face. I feel it as surely as sunlight punching through the hole in the barn wall.
“They’re hiding scars,” she says, and I jolt with a start.
How does she know? No one here knows.
