And now she's here withme, holdingmyhand, kissingme, smiling atme. I suppose I shouldn't be jealous—I should be grateful.
His loss is my greatest gain.
"He did," I agree, easing the truck to a stop at a red light. I rub the back of her hand with my thumb, and her smile grows wider as she looks down at our joined hands, like the sight of them still surprises her in the best way. "Michael's a good guy. He really takes care of her. That's why she's such a romantic."
"I think she's rubbing off on me," Sophie says with a soft laugh.
"Yeah, you didn't even complain about the miscommunication today," I tease her, and she gasps, mock-offended. I can still picture her ranting on our lastboardwalk sunset date—practically breathing fire about how miscommunication was the worst literary trope.
"These problems could be solved with a five-minute conversation!" she'd snapped, viciously biting into a French fry like it had personally betrayed her. I'd grabbed two fries and made a cross with them like she was a vampire, and she'd burst into the sweetest laughter that made my heart skip.
"He's on thin ice," she mutters now, narrowing her eyes at me. Then her face softens again, melting into a radiant smile. "I'm in a good mood lately."
"Oh?" I ask, trying—and failing—not to smile as the light turns green and I ease us back onto the road. "Any particular reason?"
"Just this guy I'm seeing. He's really sweet. Kind. Makes me laugh harder than I ever have. He's a real dreamboat, too."
It's a miracle I can manage to speak at all with the feelings clogging my throat, and when I do, my voice comes out a little too raspy. "Sounds like a decent guy. Does he treat you well?"
"Better than any guy ever has."
I can't look at her since my eyes are glued to the road, but it's the way she says it—so absolutely, so sure—that makes my chest ache in the best way. I respond with a vow, a promise. "You deserve no less."
Sophie lifts up our hands, and this time, she kisses the back of mine, causing that spot to tingle.
"I'm starting to believe that, my otter."
"My otter," I repeat softly, feeling her gently squeeze my hand. I know I'm smiling too wide, but there isn't an ounce of insecurity in my body right now. There never is with Sophie.
The rest of the drive is in peaceful silence, and when I pull up to the apartment, I turn the car off and look over to see her fastasleep. She looks so serene, her head resting against the seat, a small, content smile curving her lips.
Beautiful,I think with a smile, looking down at our still hands linked togetherso we don't drift.
???
It takes fifteen minutes to gently rouse my sleeping girl, and even then, I still carry her up to her apartment. She's too tired to protest much, just wrecks me by making those soft, adorable, sleepy sounds as she snuggles into my shoulder.
I carry her through the soft-lit apartment, the warmth of her body pressed against mine, her breath slow and shallow against my collarbone. It's late, close to eleven, but the apartment building feels especially quiet tonight, like the universe understands she needs the peace.
I lay her down gently on her bed, and she finally opens her eyes, slowly blinking herself awake, as if her sleep is not ready to let her go.
"Sor—" I cut off her apology with a soft kiss, and she hums happily against my lips.Sweet girl.
"Don't be," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. I crouch down to grab her boots, gently pulling them off her feet. She blinks at me a couple more times, looking both pleased and like she's about to protest that she can do it herself. I know she can, but I want to care for her. She reaches over to the side of the bed, whereWestley and Buttercuphave taken residence, and cuddles them to her. That makes me smile as I place her boots in the closet—my neat Virgo wouldn't want them tossed haphazardly on the floor.
When I turn back around, she's lifted the comforter and slid underneath, already snuggling down into the plush pillows with a soft sigh. She looks so small in the large bed, delicate in a waythat makes me want to protect and shield her from everything. I've felt this protective urge before, for my mom, for the women in the book club, but never like this, never this bone deep.
It feels like any harm to her could make me come unglued in an instant.
She looks hesitant for a moment before reaching up and sliding the hat from her head. Without a word, I take it from her and pull out some of the hair that came with the hat, placing it on her dresser. In the mirror, I can see her try to smooth her hair down to cover the bald spots that have become more prominent lately. She doesn't need to do that—especially not for me—but I know that it makes her more comfortable to have them covered.
"Donna's going to take you to chemo tomorrow?" I ask softly, settling on the edge of the bed beside her. She sighs in relief as she lies back down, and I grab the soft throw blanket from the foot of the bed and lay it over her, tucking her in and making her smile.
Sophie nods, "And you're picking me up?"
"Of course," I reply immediately, smiling at her. "Amma's and movie night. Your choice."
"I chose last time," she protests, but I shake my head, reaching out to brush my fingers against her cheek.
