I let my hand drift lightly up and down his forearm, and I flutter tiny, slow kisses along his bare shoulder. After a moment, he inhales deeply and breathes out a long sigh, his body relaxing back into me.
“Mmm, better?” I murmur against his skin.
“Yeah . . . Thanks.”
“Want me to stop?”
He mumbles a no, and so I keep gently rubbing his arm and then his back with soft, long strokes while my lips caress his shoulder and neck. He’s silent, except for the occasional quiet sigh, but after a few more minutes, most of the tension in his shoulders isgone.
Of course, that’s when his alarm goes off again. I quickly prop myself up and reach over him to shut it off before he can move. He groans and then rolls onto his back, one arm coming up to cover his eyes.
God, he looks exhausted.
“You need a day off,” I say softly. I lower my mouth back to his neck and trail a path of kisses down to his collarbone. Then I pause with my lips barely brushing his skin. “Things have been hectic lately. You’ve been working so much.”
I glance up and see him frowning, his eyes half open as he looks at me.
“I... have to,” he says, and I nod.
“I know. But you need some downtime, too.” I reach up and touch his cheek with just the tips of my fingers, and he closes his eyes, then lowers his arm and shifts onto his side so he’s facing me.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” I tease, and he grins and swats my arm. Then he’s silent again, and his expression turns serious, like he’s thinking about something important. Quietly, I start caressing his arm and placing tiny kisses on his forehead and cheeks. “So, hmm, what about this weekend, maybe Sunday? We can relax and spend the day together? Go somewhere?”
A buzz of eager excitement rolls through me, my mind already racing with possibilities, even before he’s answered. I know exactly where I want to take him. And Sunday... Sunday would be perfect. Morning, so it’s not busy or too hot. We can have breakfast at the café he likes—the one by Urban Arts. Then take a bus over to the garden, it’s not too far. And the cherry blossoms are just starting to bloom; they’ll make the perfect backdrop. Afterward, after he says yes and we’re engaged and I’ve made sure he knows exactly how much I love him and how much he means to me, wecan come back home and just relax and hang out, play video games like we used to or maybe go to the movies. Whatever he wants to do.
It’ll be perfect. Like him.
I drop my head down to his shoulder and smile against his skin, and he hums and sets his hand on my chest.
“Hmm, yeah, maybe? I mean, I’ll have to check with Greta,” he says, but I feel him shake his head slightly. “Wait, won’t you be studying for your qualifying exam? It’s the following week, isn’t it?”
My stomach drops at the reminder, and the beautiful, idyllic scene I painted in my head poofs out of existence. “Ugh. Yeah, you’re right. The exam is Tuesday afternoon. I’ll need to study all weekend.”
The two-hour-long oral qualifying exam is a requirement for formal advancement to candidacy for my PhD in the Physics Department. I’m prepared and ready—John has been making me practice the first part of the exam, which consists of a prepared oral presentation on my chosen topic, during our weekly lab meetings—and I’m fairly confident I’ll do well. But it’s stressful anyway, especially because the committee selected to administer my exam includes two faculty who will also be members of my dissertation committee.
I sigh. “Well, what about the following weekend, then?”
Nico shakes his head. “That’s the weekend Vera’s overseeing the opening of that new gallery up in San Mateo. I’m working there both Saturday and Sunday.”
“Oh, right.” I let out another resigned sigh. “When did we become such an old, busy couple?”
He laughs, his breath hot against my chest, but he shakes his head and hesitates a second before he says, “Six years together this summer.”
My heart stutters, all my disappointment forgotten. I lift my hand to cup his cheek, and he smiles softly as his eyes meet mine.
God, he’s so beautiful and so perfect.
I have to be the luckiest guy in the world.
“Sixamazingyears,” I murmur, and I lean in for a short, sweet kiss.
When we part, he laughs lightly as he looks up at me. “I’ve loved you a lot longer than that, you know,” he says.
And my darn heart skips another beat. I wrap my arms around him and pull him up against me and nuzzle my face into his hair. “I’ve loved you for so long, Nico.”
I’ve got the stupidest urge to just blurt it out right now, like I did with my mom last night.
