We quickly slip it on and she lines me up, her body so ready for mine that I sink into her in one slow thrust. And when I’m fully seated, I feel it. Comfort. Security. The feeling of a home that I’ve been chasing my whole life.
***
A soft click of a door closing wakes me, and I peek one eye open, noticing Annaliese’s side of the bed is empty. I reach an arm out, swiping my hand over the still-warm sheets before propping myself up on my elbows.
The door to my en suite is open and the lights are off. I hear another noise from outside my bedroom door and I'm up, scrambling to find some sweatpants to toss on.
I skip the shirt, my mind already racing with the possibilities as to why she's up in the middle of the night.
She had a glass of champagne at the fundraiser, and now that I think of it, I was too distracted to notice if she ate dinner. That, plus our hours of extracurricular activities afterwards could mean her sugars are running low.
I sweep down the hall, noticing the spare room and bathroom doors are open, both dark. The lights are all off in the living room, and I stand in the center, looking around, using the moonlight to guide me. She's nowhere to be found.
She wouldn't have snuck out, there's no reason to. I'm about to call out her name when I see the flicker of a white tee in my walk-in refrigerator.
Relief washes over me followed by curiosity and another string of worries when I think as to why she's standing inside the fridge. I cross into the kitchen and reach for the door handle the same time she turns around.
She jumps with her hand flying to her chest. “My God, Colt, I thought you were sleeping. Holy shit, you scared me!”
I reach for her hand and pull her out of the unit, noticing a glass dish pressed against her chest.
“Are you feeling okay?” I run a hand along her forehead, pressing it to the side of her cheek. “Is your sugar low?” I reach a hand down to grab her watch, and notice it's not there.
“I'm okay,” she says, setting the dish on the counter next to us and taking both my hands in hers. “Feeling a little shaky, that's all. Just came out here for something to eat.”
I allow myself to exhale a little, knowing that it isn't an emergency right now. “That's good, baby.” I reach for the dish to pop it in the microwave when she stills me.
“What is this?” she asks, her hand drawing a border around the white square label that's now on every prepped meal in my house.
“This is a peach barbecue chicken breast with...” I bring the container closer to my face so I can read it. “With cauliflower.”
She cocks her head to the side. “I can read, Colt. But I'm asking whatthisis.” She ushers again to the white label, and I take both of her hands in mine.
“It’s exactly what it looks like, sweetheart.” I can't take away her diabetes, and since it's part of what had made her so strong, I wouldn't even want to. I can ask her questions and check her sugar levels until I'm blue in the face, but when I racked my brain for all the ways I could truly help her, this one stood out to me.
“I hired a diabetic nutritionist. My carb counting and nutrition skills are a little rusty, so I requested that she work with my chef to prepare meals for you. Each week they will make something for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a snack. The labels show you how many carbs, grams of protein, and fiber are in each serving. I was hoping if you were here and experienced a moment just like this, that it'd make the decision on what to eat easier for you.”
Tears line Annie's lower lids, and I reach my hand up to catch the first one with my thumb. “I told you, sweetheart, I'm here. Which means I'm here to help, to listen. I'll become whatever you need because I care about you. That means I want to be able totake careof you.”
She nods, choking back her remaining tears as she holds my hand to her face.
I lean in, planting a soft kiss to the center of her forehead before I take the dish and move to the microwave to heat it up. She sits on the counter with her bare legs swinging back and forth while I feed her forkfuls of chicken, stealing a few bites for myself. We eat in comfortable silence, which is something I've noticed comes easily with us.
I'm content to stare out the window, watching the clouds move across the chilly night sky as we take turns sharing the fork. When we're done and a little color has returned to her face, I help her slide off the counter.
I'm ready to lead her back to the bedroom when she grabs my arm.
“Dance with me? That was nice, earlier tonight.”
Her request is sincere, almost a little shy, and even though I don't consider myself a dancer by any means, fast or slow, I find myself leading her into the living room.
Within seconds, the softest metal song I can find plays and she throws her head back, laughing at my angry boy music once again. I pull her to me, nipping the side of her neck as she squeals.
She settles into my arms so easily, her head laying against my chest as I place my chin on top of her head. I wrap her in my arms and we sway for what feels like hours.
The songs change, each transition giving us another few minutes in our secret world together. I look over the top of her head to see the snow is falling in fat, pillowy flakes. The city will be covered in a soft dusting, a sure sign that winter is here and that Annaliese will be leaving soon.
An unfamiliar burning rises in my throat, and I clear it roughly, pulling her further into my arms. I won't let myself think about what I’m about to lose, not while she's still here with me. I tell myself I won't think about the fact that I've fallen for her and that she now consumes me in the best way.
