Maybe I needed to askWinterthat.
He’d said if I had questions, I should ask. Would he then think I thought we were dating?
“I’m going to bed now,” I said, before taking my leave. “I have a lot of overthinking to do, and I’d rather do it in my room.”
Dad chuckled. “Okay. We’re leaving at six-thirty in the morning, remember.”
“Of course I remember.”
“So don’t be overthinking too much.”
I knew he was joking, but I narrowed my eyes at him before I went into my room and closed the door.
The sanctity of my room . . .
For all intents and purposes, it looked unchanged. Nothing was out of place, nothing missing. But Winter had been in here, and in my memories, I could see him standing at my bookcase, looking at all my things.
His gentle questions, his bright eyes.
Then I remembered the way he’d touched my arm when we’d stood at the door.
I could still feel the warmth of it. Even though looking at my arm now, it too appeared unchanged.
But I could feel the warmth of it in my mind.
Like I could feel the memory of him being in my room.
Like I could feel the way my heart felt too big and warm when I remembered him. His smile, his eyes.
I didn’t even mind him touching my arm. He’d given me warning and he’d asked permission, and those two things were apparently all I needed.
Or maybe it was because it was him.
I trusted Winter not to overstep. He knew my boundaries, my limitations, and he respected them.
He had made me feel so at ease. We’d had a few communication issues in the beginning, but that seemed to have passed. We were on the same page now.
In my head, at least.
I wanted to ask him if his skin still burned where he’d touched me. If his heart felt too big and too warm. If thinking about me made him smile the way thinking of him made me smile.
I wanted to ask him all kinds of questions.
I wanted to know his mind, his heart.
So after a quick shower, I climbed into bed and instead of reading, I began making a list.
Questions to ask Winter.
I pausedwork at 8:00 a.m. to send Winter a text.
“My heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils”
I was going to text him my questions but decided to keep those as conversation starters on our date, if that’s what it was. I wasn’t entirely convinced and would need to ask him for clarification later. But he’d made a point of telling me how much he loved the lines of poetry.
The poem from William Wordsworth that I’d quoted was probably too much—and it hadn’t been one I’d selected and written down earlier—but one I’d chosen at 5:00 a.m. when I woke up unable to stop thinking about him.
A fitting poem for him.
