THAT STUPID L-WORD
Daphne
It’s official.
I’m in love with Oliver.
It’s Sunday morning. A full week since I tried to get my phone back from under the mattress in his secret serial killer cabin, when he’d glare at me for breathing, and today couldn’t be more different.
I’m playing the role of the little spoon in the tent while a light rain falls on the canvas. He’s sleeping, his hand curled around my belly, and he’s breathing peacefully in my hair, the warmth of his breath in direct contrast to the cool morning air tickling my nose. The sun’s up, but with the rain, it’s a muted light coming through the tent.
I close my eyes and let myself breathe peacefully too.
It’s not hard to imagine staying here forever. Camping for eternity. The lure of how easy it would be to fall into old habits and tell myself things likehe can afford for us to live like this forever, we don’t have to work, we could do good things withhis money—but the thought sends anxiety swirling through my belly at the same time.
As it should.
He’s taking his life in a new direction, and I’m only along for the journey between destinations.
But I don’t know how I can end this journey without my life changing because of the experience too.
I can’t go back to what life was before either. Life without Oliver.
The thought makes me sad.
He inhales a deeper breath, one of those waking-up breaths, and his fingers stretch across my belly before he pulls me closer.
“Morning,” I whisper.
“I love sleep,” he mumbles back.
I smile even as my heart dips.
For a hot second there, I thought he was about to tell me he lovedme.
But there’s a big leap from him telling me he liked me in the hotel the other day to loving me.
A lot of people like me.
It takes someone special to love me though.
“Sleep seems to like you too.” I trace the veins on the back of his hand. “You almost could pass for thirty-seven now.”
His amused snort tickles my ear. “I almost feel forty-five.”
“So, is that your plan? To run away somewhere and pull a sleeping beauty for a few years?”
“Yes.”
It’s so easy to picture myself in a little cabin with him, making him pancakes for a late brunch after he wakes up, going on a hike, donating to charities for an hour or so, and then making grilled cheeses for an early dinner before we collapse into bed again.
Making love to him.
Slipping out of bed once he’s asleep to call Bea or watch TV or take care of a garden.
No stress.
No anxiety.
