When I first slid inside of her, it was likenothingI had feltbefore. Warm and wet and tight, and when she had come, her perfect face twisted in pleasure that I had given her, it had sent me completely over the edge.
I was right when I had said that my wildest dreams couldn't have anticipated Sophie.
She's...mine. My one. The love of my life, the one I want to spend my life with.
A life full of love and laughter and family... maybe even kids.
Children will only be if her body allows it. I don't want to even bring it up because Sophie needs to focus on healing, not worrying about her future potential to give us a child.
One step at a time, but... it is nice to dream.
And the vision that shoves its way into my mind is beautiful... and dangerous.
I had always assumed I would get married and have kids, but now I can picture it all clearly.
Sophie, healthy and glowing in a white dress with a ring on her finger. Sophie in the kitchen, cradling her pregnant belly and softly smiling at me. Sophie holding a little girl, a mini version of herself with dark hair, her button nose, and her sweet smile.
I close my eyes and force down the sting behind my eyes, the tears threatening to spill over. Like my mom always cautions—patience.
I'll hope and dream quietly. I'll walk every step beside her, wherever the road takes us, and if it ends up just being the two of us—just me and my otter—well, that's not only enough, it'severything.
I can feel her starting to stir, slowly resurfacing from her deep slumber. She hums, the sleepy sound hitting me right in my chest as she buries her nose in my chest, like a little creature burrowing for warmth. Adorable.
I whisper, "Good morning, my otter."
She smiles, but doesn't respond or open her eyes.
Leaning down, I cup her cheek and tilt it so that I can kiss her eyes, her forehead, her temple, smiling wider when I hear her giggling, no doubt from my beard tickling her.
"Come on, sweet girl," I coax, running my hand down her back. "I've got awholeday planned for us."
Those beautiful eyes finally crack open, and when she sees me, she grins so wide.
"Good morning, otter," she yawns, her voice gravelly with sleep. She looks at my chest, and her smile drops, "Oh no..."
I'm shaking with laughter at this point, "Yeah, it's weird, I noticed my chest was a little wet..."
Huffing, she sits up, and her sleepy, grouchy face only makes me laugh more. "Making fun of me," she grumbles, trying to wipe away the wet spot. I catch her hand and kiss the back of it, which makes her face melt into a grin.
"Never," I swear, kissing her hand once more, before cupping her cheek. "Are you hungry?"
She thinks for a moment before she nods. That's a good sign, and it makes me happy to hear.
Some mornings, even the smell of food can turn her stomach. On those days, I usually can coax her into eating something bland, like dry toast, oatmeal, or fruit. I have a couple of options for places to eat today, and some backup plans in case she's not feeling well or not hungry.
I may not be savvy with spreadsheets, but I am good at keeping organized and planning.
I gently pull her out of bed, laughing at her dramatic protests. I end up scooping her up and carrying her to the bathroom, where her protests—and all of her words—go quiet when we end up in the shower together.
To conserve water, of course.
???
Two hours later, we're pulling up in the rideshare to our first stop of the day. Her hand is curled around mine, and she's been looking at me suspiciously, trying to figure out where we're going. Whenever she tried to look up at the driver's GPS or glance at any signs, I would distract her—by kissing her lips that still tasted like cinnamon and sugar.
We had a filling breakfast at a local diner that I found online. It was one of thoseretro, mom-and-pop, 'if you know, you know'kind of places buried beneath hundreds of touristy recommendations.
When we walked in, we were immediately hit with the scent of coffee and syrup, and a gruff waitress told us to sit anywhere we wanted. Sophie and I ordered and talked, laughing at our silly pictures from the night before. I felt pleased with how much Sophie ate—a cinnamon roll and even a few pieces of my turkey bacon.
