"Yes?" I ask weakly, trying to recover some semblance of dignity as I reach up and adjust the crooked hat on her head.
"You're silly," she beams at me, shaking her head fondly.
"In a good way?"
"In the absolutebestway," she says with a sigh, her hands coming up to rest lightly on my chest. Instinct takes over—I slide my hands around her waist, to her lower back, and press her closer to me. She comes without hesitation, both of us grinning at each other like fools.
Well,I'mgrinning like a fool.
Sophie just looks incredibly happy, just the way she should always be.
When she reaches up to cup my cheeks, pulling me down for a kiss now that we're alone, I feel myself fall for her that much more. The kiss deepens, and she moans softly into my mouth, the sound nearly ungluing me.
The kiss builds softly, a slow simmer between us as our tongues gently meet. She tastes like heaven, and she feels like home.
Time slows, the world could end, and I'd have no idea.
Because Sophie's happy, Sophie's kissing me, and nothing else matters.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Callum
"Bailey's ring is absolutely stunning."
Sophie sighs dreamily from the passenger seat as I slide into the driver's side, starting the truck. I crank the heat up once it's on, vents already positioned toward her since I've started driving her around. My girl is always so cold, especially now.
She has her own car, but the fatigue from chemo has been hitting her harder over the last week, so I've designated myself as her personal chauffeur. Not that I mind at all. More time spent with Sophie is always a good thing, but the fatigue concerns me. I try to notice all the new side effects she mentions, and especially the ones she doesn't.
Her hair loss has been especially heartbreaking for her, even as she tries to downplay her feelings. I've read extensively—cancer forums, articles, survivor stories—to prepare and understand.
One article in particular gutted me. This breast cancer survivor described how she lost her sense of identity when her hair started falling out. She said she didn't feel as beautiful as she once did, and she looked completely unrecognizable in the mirror. Her old self was gone, and she felt as if she were vanishing from the world with no way to stop it. That caused her to fall into depression, on top of having to continue with the grueling treatments.
Our hair is a part of us. It literally grows out of our bodies, and for most people, it can shape their identity and their senseof self. Then it starts falling out faster than you can adjust, and it feels like a loss.
Another described that it felt like she was constantly wearing a large sign that saysI have cancer and I'm dying!It stripped her of any sense of privacy, making even mundane trips to the grocery store something to dread. Strangers offering sympathy with too much emotion in their eyes and not nearly enough tact in their words.
The thought of Sophie feeling even a fraction of that pain—of not feeling like the beautiful and wonderful woman she is—kills me.
Reading those experiences was painful in a way I couldn't brace myself for. Instead of feeling like the damn warriors that they are, fighting a battle they didn't ask to fight and suffering from a sickness that shouldn't exist, they can't help but feel less than. Not beautiful. Not brave. Not strong.
That's not right, and unfortunately, I can't help those women, but I can help the one next to me. My Sophie.
Once we're headed toward her apartment, I reach my hand out to her. Sophie moves automatically and links her fingers with mine over the center console as if it were muscle memory. The contact is grounding to me, and I smile as I lift our joined hands to press a lingering kiss to the back of hers.
"That rock is literally Bailey in diamond form."
I laugh at her words, thinking back to earlier tonight. Bailey had come bouncing through the front door, practically floating on air as she showed us all her engagement ring. Her boyfriend—now fiancé—had proposed over the weekend with an insanely gorgeous and no doubt very expensive heart-shaped pink diamond.
Her excitement had briefly died when she looked over at Sophie, knowing how her own engagement had ended. Sophie wouldn't allow any of that. She promptly hugged Bailey tightly,oohed and aahedover the ring, and beamed as if it were her own sister getting engaged. It might as well have been, given how close the women have gotten.
I think I fell in love with Sophie a little more right there. Her perseverance, her kindness, her ability to not let her own rain clouds affect anyone else's sunny day.
"Is that the style you like?" I tentatively ask, gauging her reaction and noting the scrunched-up look and shake of her head.
"No, I like a little less glitz personally. My ring was just a solitaire," Sophie informs me casually, like she was commenting on the weather. "But it totally fits Bailey. He did very well."
Jealousy sears me for a moment at the reminder that Sophie and Paul had been engaged at one point. It's ridiculous, childish, and unneeded. Especially since he ruined it—he had this wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime kind of woman and blew it all up like it meant nothing.
