She had a dragonfly brooch that she’d wear every Sunday during family brunches. It was blue, like this one, and she would always explain to us that they symbolize change, and that change, while it can be scary, can also be good. She would tell us how open she was to change.
Perhaps this is a sign from my grandma. Life is changing for me, right this very moment, and even though I think I’m open to it, maybe it’s a reminder that even though change is scary, it can be good.
So yeah, this change is scary as hell, and missing my family and my life is hard, but I’ve also got this amazing woman by my side who could change my life for the better, and I can’t wait to see what that change could bring.
25
HANNAH
He’s fast asleep again.
The dark is freaking me out. It’s nearing five a.m., and I’ve been awake all night, despite hoping that my anxiety last night was a one off. The sunrise is peeking through the trees, illuminating the sky and sending light through the blind-covered windows. I can’t sleep, and it’s not because I’m not tired. I’m exhausted, but I still can’t get the irrational fear out of my mind that as soon as I fall asleep, they’ll strike.
Arson snorts, rolling over and waking up. When he sees me awake, he wags his tail, shaking the bed. “Shhh,” I shush, but he grows more and more excited. “Alright, fine.”
I throw my legs out of the bed and go downstairs, Arson following closely behind. I open the front door, rapidly glancing around outside for anything that looks different or suspicious. I don’t see anything, so I open it wider for Arson, who beelines to the nearest tree.
Once he comes back to me, we head to the kitchen where I get him a scoop of food out of the bag Thomas placed in the hall closet. Now that I know where it is, I ammore than happy to feed him when I’m awake and Thomas is not.
I make a pot of coffee, adding a generous amount of creamer and a scoop of sugar once I pour myself a cup. I sit down on the couch and curl up in one of my blankets, grabbing my book from the side table. I only had a few minutes to grab everything when we left, but I made sure to grab a few of my comfort novels so that I at least had something to distract me. I read the first few pages, letting the familiar words and story pull me out of reality.
Two hours later, Thomas groans. “Hannah?” he calls, his voice gravelly with sleep.
“Down here,” I reply. He appears moments later, wearing only a pair of cotton shorts. I can see the outline of his cock through the fabric, and I swear to god, it makes my mouth water. I’ve never had such a physical reaction to another person before. This man is so attractive, and that doesn’t even account for his personality.
“Good morning,” he greets. One side of his lips pulls up into a smirk, triggering one of those dimples to pop on his cheek.
“Morning,” I say, trying to hide my flushing cheeks and the sudden heat flaring through my body. He has his glasses on again, which are slowly becoming my favorite accessory. I’ve always had a thing for hot men wearing glasses—cough, cough, Clark Kent—but seeing Thomas wearing them might be my undoing. His blonde hair is sticking up in random points around his head, and as he runs his hand through it, his arm muscles flex. I gulp, looking down at my book. The couple in the enemies-to-lovers novel were about to tear each other's clothes off, so maybe that’s why I’m feeling so flustered. That has to be it, right? It has nothing to do with how attracted I am to Thomas. Nothing to do with how I’mmore attracted to him than I’ve ever been to someone before.
And his hands,oh god. They’re so big, and he has those veins that pop from his arms and the back of his hands, which is every medic and nurse's wet dream. Thomas catches me staring at his hands as he pulls his shorts up. His soft stomach and muscular pecs are covered in a light dusting of chest hair, and fuck, why do I want to run my fingers through it?
This is dangerous.
Thomas strides over to me, bending down to slide his hand across my cheek, threading his fingers in my hair. “What are you reading?” he asks. His voice still has a slight rasp from sleep in it, and it is so incredibly sexy that I almost forget to answer the question.
“A book,” I reply, to which he chuckles, planting a kiss on my forehead.
“What’s it called?”
I’ve read this book no less than ten times. I could recite the prologue from memory, as well as many quotes from it without a glance at the page, so tell mewhymy mind goes completely blank, the title flying out of my mind instantly.
Instead of telling him the title, I hold the book up between us since he’s still leaning toward me, our foreheads nearly touching. I show him the cover of the couple embracing each other with the title in a cursive font on it.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, leaning back to get a look at it. “Seems intriguing.”
“Yep,” I squeak.
Thomas lets out a low chuckle, rising to his full height and striding toward the kitchen. “How did you sleep?”
I fight a yawn as I reply with a lie, “Fine.” I don’t need to place this burden of my lack of sleep on him.
“I slept hard, even though we slept so much yesterday,” Thomas says as he pours himself a cup of the brewed coffee. “Apparently we needed the sleep.”
“Yeah,” I agree noncommittally. Changing the subject, I say, “I fed Arson this morning, so he’s good to go.”
“Thanks, you didn’t have to do that,” Thomas replies.
“You really think he would have let me not feed him? Remember the first night?”
