“It felt easier, with you.”
She smiles. “What about the other parts of last night?”
I pretend I’m thinking hard. “Oh, the part where you ripped my shirt off or the part where you bucked me like a bronco?”
She laughs, climbs on top, and lets out a startled sound when I flip us. Now she’s beneath me—warm, breathless, a gorgeous mess—and the sight of her there sends a jolt straight through me.
I kiss her, softly at first, and then with more hunger. We slowly peel out of our clothes and tumble in the sheets. We make love, but it’s not a frenzy like last night. It’s a slow burn of tangled limbs and whispered yeses.
We move through what’s left of the morning like we do this every day. We shower together, and she tells me about parts of her childhood growing up in Colorado. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Her father leaving to go chase Everest. Her mother trying to navigate that sudden shift with Roxanne and her brother. Living in a log cabin in Summit County.
“That’s when I stopped loving nature so much, living soremote … I hated it. I was always so jealous of school friends who had lawns and garages.”
“I never thought a garage would be a source of teen jealousy.”
She chuckles. “You don’t understand. When I’d come home late at night, I’d have to park to the side of the house in the dirt and then listen for the sounds of a bear or mountain lion creeping around. A bear chased my mother and I once when we were unloading groceries from the car.”
“Shit, that’s never even happened to me all the years I’ve lived here.”
“The feeling of loneliness was worse. There weren’t any kids on my street, hell, we didn’t even really have a street. My brother and I were alone a lot because my mother worked two jobs.”
My heart sinks hearing this.
“Every day felt like we were camping,” she continues, “and that’s why I wanted to live in the city.”
“But the city has people and people are terrible.”
She laughs and dips her head as my hands slip to her shoulders to give her a massage.
“People can be terrible, but for some reason, a city full of them versus open spaces made me feel safer. A man losing his mind on the A train is still more predictable to me than wondering if a mountain lion is stalking me in the brush. Colorado is beautiful, but it only represents the loneliness and loss from my childhood now.”
I’m glad I’m standing behind her so she can’t see my expression shift into a frown. Hearing her say this kind of ruins my plan of convincing her to move back here after she gives the pitch.
“I’m sorry,” is all I manage to say to her as I lather the shampoo in her hair while she soaps up.
She shrugs. “Don’t be.”
“At least your mother and you are close, and you have a greatstepdad like I do. Lean your head back.” I take the spray nozzle of the shower head and rinse her hair.
“Yes,” she says, closing her eyes. “We’re very close.”
“Can’t wait to meet them,” I say.
Her lips part and she lifts her head back, the corner of her mouth tugging up. “Me too.”
While it seemed like showering together would save water, we don’t manage to get out of there without making each other cry out in ecstasy. Once we are dried and clothes back on, we head downstairs where Jameson is waiting in the kitchen. He stomps his foot in his food bowl, but I know this game very well.
“You can’t fool me, boy,” I say, grabbing the bag of coffee and getting my French press ready. “I already got up and fed you early this morning.”
Roxanne heads into the library to check her emails and once the coffee pot makes its final gurgle, I pour two mugs—one for her, one for me. I remember the tradition I started when I would bring her a cup of coffee with a little Post-it Note. When I dig through my kitchen junk drawer looking for my notes, my fingers find another piece of paper instead.
It’s the consent form she gave me after one of our early conversations, back when she was still all business and I was still pretending I didn’t want her anywhere near me.
Once she decided to stop pressuring me about it, she handed it over and said, “When you’re ready.”
Well, I’m ready. I admit I didn’t trust her when she first got here. I didn’t think she cared enough, but I know now that she is looking at the story of Firebird with her whole heart.
I grab a pen, scribble my signature, fold it once, and tuck it in the back pocket of my jeans. I then decide to further impress Roxanne by drawing a picture of two stick figures holding hands on a Post-it Note.
