Looking back at the computer, I study my picture. Both corners of my mouth are turned up, but one much more so than the other. My eyes hold laughter, but not the loud kind.
I point at the computer. “Do I do that often?”
“Only to me.”
Warmth spreads over my chest. I like that we have this. I like that he knows something like that about me, that he has noticed. It’s nice to be seen.
Burrowing deeper into the couch cushions, I lean against him. The heat from his arm seeps into me. I’ve always loved how warm Aidan feels. His heat is comforting, like a sweater. It’s a reminder of who I’m with, and that makes me happy.
“I’m going to use that in my next book.” I tip my head, leaning it against his shoulder.
“Use what?” Aidan asks, his deep voice drifting down to me.
“The picture thing. It’s sweet. Swoon-worthy, in fact.”
“Don’t thank me for that idea in your acknowledgments. It’ll ruin my image.” As he speaks, he makes his voice even deeper, a rich baritone.
“Surely you would drop dead if that happened.”
“I might.”
Aidan wiggles the arm I’m leaning on, so I sit up. Shifting, he wraps his arm around me and pulls me in close.
Not only is he warm like always, but he smells like he has since the day I met him. My college roommate said he smelled like sex, which was something I never understood. When I think of the scent of sex, I think of salty sweat and something that reminds me vaguely of bleach. Aidan smells like neither.
“What do you want to be when you’re grown-up?” Aidan’s question takes me off-guard.
“We’re twenty-eight. Don’t you think that qualifies as grown-up?”
“I live in a shoebox with two other guys. I think that excludes me from being an adult.”
I sip my wine, then say “There’s a difference between being an adult and being a grown-up. Turn eighteen,bam,adult. No questions asked. You can die for your country and be sent to prison. But grown-up… that’s an obscure term.”
“Does getting married make you an adult?”
I twist my lips as I think. “Maybe. Maybe not.” I certainly thought I was an adult when I accepted Henry’s proposal. We were twenty-two and in love. At the time, love seemed like all we would need.
“You’re an adult as defined by the constructs of the world.” Aidan’s voice trickles down around us. “You have a career, you’ve been divorced, you don’t eat Cheetos for dinner.” He taps my forearm with one finger. “Adult.”
By that definition, I guess I am an adult. But I certainly don’t feel like a grown-up. I feel like an unfinished thought, floating between good intentions and choices that were right at that moment. This isn’t where I thought I would be by twenty-eight.
“Do you want another glass?” Aidan asks.
I nod and move so Aidan can get up. He comes back with the bottle and pours the remaining amount.
“You’re going to have to change my profile again,” I say, inclining my head toward his computer.
“Why?” he asks. My body shifts as he settles back down beside me.
“I’m a writer. Not an author.”
He turns to face me. His eyes are dark, and his facial hair has grown in enough for two five o’clock shadows. “You’ve written a full manuscript. I’ve read it. I might be a math teacher, but I know good writing. Remember who my parents are?”
A blush sweeps my cheeks. Why is it so hard to hear this compliment?
He continues. “You’re an author. Not a writer. And one day, you’re going to be published. Your books are going to be everywhere, Natalie. Everywhere. I believe it with my whole fucking soul.”
The first tear rolls down my cheek, and two more follow.
