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“And you’re a sculptor?”
“I am.”
Laughing softly, I turned and hitched my leg over his hip like I was climbing him even though we were horizontal. “You’ll have to show me.”
He nodded slowly, and I pressed myself closer to him, breathing in the softness of misty trees and the sweetness of summer air. “Can I ask you something?”
“You weren’t already?”
I smacked his arm, but I felt his smile. “You said talking isn’t easy for you. Is it okay for me to know why?”
Like he needed the contact, Roman shifted his hand underneath the hoodie I wore once more, sliding his hand up my thigh, over my ass and up my spine. “It’s—” The words cut off, and he took a deep breath.
“I don’t ask to judge you,” I whispered. “Just want to know more about you, and if I can help.” It didn’t seem like he even noticed the subtle relaxation at my words.
“I know.”
“Good.”
He traced his fingers up and down my back, touching the places he could feel my spine and shoulder blades. Roman’s hands were big enough they nearly spanned the entirety of my back as it was. When he finally spoke, the words were deliberate and slow. “I’m dyslexic. Severe. I can read, but… it takes me a long time, and it’s easier not to. I also—” he swallowed and I felt it. “For a long time it was hard to talk. My brain mixes words, letters, sounds, and even likes to rearrange the sentences. So in school I didn’t sound smart. Was scared to talk. Got made fun of a lot, so silence was easier.”
I held him closer, squeezing him tighter than I probably should have. People were cruel about anything they could be. Between myself and Petra, I knew more than a little about being mocked and the way stories took on a life of their own for people to spin into stories that hurt you. “I’m sorry.”
“I worked on the speaking part for a long time. It’s still hard sometimes. The anxiety and overwhelm are always with me. Easier with people I’m close to.”
“And me?”
“Comes and goes. Still nervous you’re not real.”
Pressing my ear to his chest, I snuggled down into him. “I’m very real.”
“I know, firefly.” Slowly, his hand slid down to my hip, where his thumb rubbed tender circles on my skin. “Does it bother you?”
I pulled back to look at him and found his eyes guarded. “Why would it?” When his gaze slid away, I pulled it right back. “Of course not, Roman. You could never speak, and you’d still be mine.”
The flash of pain in his expression made me want to hunt down anyone who had made him feel less than and do things that would probably get me arrested.
Then I smiled. “Besides. Even when you’re not talking, you’reverygood with your mouth.”
Finally, he cracked a smile along with me. I managed to kiss him, though I had to move up the bed to do it. “All of you make me feel safe,” I said quietly. “I want that for you too. If you can’t talk, that’s okay. We’ll find other ways to communicate. I’ll learn sign language if I have to.”
He tucked me deeper against his side and held me close so I was entirely surrounded. Warm and safe. Roman was almost a whole nest by himself. “I don’t think we’ll need to sign,” he said. “But thank you.”
Being surrounded by so much warmth, his purr relaxing me, I was fading once more. “You’re going to think I can’t stay awake around you if I keep this up.”
“We have time, firefly,” he whispered. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
* * *
When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in Roman’s arms. Our legs were still tangled together, but he was propped up on an elbow, a sketchbook balanced on a pillow between us and earbuds in his ears.
He caught my eye and smiled. “Don’t move yet.”
“Okay.” I closed my eyes again, enjoying theheavysensation of waking up after a really good sleep when there was no pressure for you to wake up. “What are you listening to?”
The quiet voices I heard through headphones quieted. “A book.”
“Oh?”
