I tighten my arms and make a happy noise. The kind of sound I’d only ever use for chocolates, usually, or a really good cake. Slowly, he extricates himself from my hold and leans back enough to look at me.
He’s beautiful. His eyes are deep and dark, his hair a tousled mess of brown curls, his cheeks flushed pink. He looks messy.
He looks happy.
It’s only then that I realize I’m smiling and he’s smiling, sharing this feedback loop of joy. He’s still inside me and though I’m guessing his knees hurt and I know my back will never be the same again, this is the single happiest moment of my life.
When my eyes cloud with tears, his widen, he leans down and kisses me, once on the lips, on the nose, on the forehead.
“I think I fucking love you, Jules,” he whispers, once he’s come back up. And that’s when I see that he’s crying, too. Just a sheen, but I’m guessing it’s not something he does often and it feels like a fucking maelstrom of emotion. But in a good way. If that’s a thing.
I nod. Not because I don’t feel this connection between us, too, but because my vocal cords are on the fritz. The second they’re back online, I’ll tell him.
“You’ve come in and brought sunshine and…Will you sleep here? Tonight?”
“Oh, oh, of course.”
He nods. “Good. Good, I I can’t…”
“What?”
“I can’t stand the idea that I’ll go to sleep and wake up and in the morning realize it was all a bloody dream.”
“It’s not.”
“No?”
I shake my head. “I feel it, too. The love.”
He pushes out a breath like it’s been clogged up inside him. “Want me to get off?”
“Probably should. I mean, I’ll need usable legs and a back that works if we ever want to do that again.”
“All right. I’d better…” Watching me, still, he pulls out and it’s a bittersweet parting, punctuated by my moan and a string of curses from under his breath. All the while, his gaze eats up my face. Memorizing me, maybe, the way I am him.
After another kiss, longer this time, he jumps to standing and gives me his hand.
There’s a slightly awkward handful of minutes when he gets rid of the condom and I use the restroom and wind up staring at my raccoon-eyed face for way too long. I’m washing the make-up off with hand soap when he knocks.
“Give you something to sleep in?”
“Oh. Yes, please.” I open the door and he smiles at me, handing over a red plaid shirt that’s long and soft and I will absolutely be stealing forever.
Finally, wrapped in the warm perfection of his shirt, I head out into the living room and he pops out of what I figure must be the kitchen, looking more excited than I’ve ever seen him.
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“It’s stuck.”
“What?”
“The snow. It’s sticking.” He pulls back a dark grey curtain and points down at the cobblestoned courtyard. “It’s all white. See?”
“Seriously?” I skip over to the window and look down. His arm wraps around my shoulders and he kisses my head.
“You’re a bloody miracle, Jules.”
