I sat beside him, looking down at him. "It's dark in here," I said.
"I know. Can you find me?"
I laughed. "Yes, I can. Barely, but I can."
"Prove it," he said.
"How should I?" I asked, smiling.
"Find my mouth… with your mouth."
"Find your what?"
"My mouth," he said. "Find it with your mouth."
"That would be me kissing you," I said.
"That's the idea," he said with a nod.
I drew closer to him, hovering.
"I was looking at it as proving that you can see me. I'm still not sure if you can."
"I can see you," I said
"Yeah, you've shown no real proof of that."
I was propped over him, looking down at him. This perfect man.
"I see you, I'm just nervous."
"To put your mouth on my mouth?"
"Yes," I said.
"Why? We've done it before."
"I know. I just… I wanted you to do it first."
He pulled me close with his hand on my arm, and I went to him, letting my weight fall onto him as our mouths connected. It was such a relief to be next to him. It was a relief to feel his mouth on mine. Henry held me, and he kissed me softly. He opened his mouth to me, and the contact was scorching. He pulled me in, holding me close.
That pile of hay in the mostly dark supply stall might as well have been the Ritz-Carlton. I might as well have been in paradise. Henry was full of desire toward me, and the way he toed the line between showing me that and holding back was romantic and poetic. He was a manly man—a guy who spent most of his day in barns or in pastures steering around thousand-pound animals. He was comfortable with being in control—so comfortable that he knew how to give up his control. Henry was always making the next best move, even if that meant not making a move at all.
He would stop kissing and talk to me or adjust how we were positioned. But then he would kiss me again, and it seemed to come at just the right time, not a second too soon. Being with Henry was natural and perfect, and I was already starting to dread the moment when we would wrap production on the series and go home.
"That's months away," I said out loud when I had the thought.
"What's months away?" he asked.
"Leaving. Finishing."
He kissed me. A sticky kiss on the side of my mouth. "So, don't," he said.
"Don't leave?"
"Yeah," he agreed lazily as if that were an option.
"I, at least, won't think about it," I said with a smile. "But I know I have to because we've got shooting to do in California after this."
