Miguel loves me.
Imperfect, unsponsored, chaotic me.
"You do?"
"Yeah," he laughs. "I never imagined a woman as vibrant as you would look at me twice. But you’ve burrowed yourself so deep into my psyche I can’t have a thought without it including you."
"Miguel–" I start, but I don’t have any words to share. My love for him is an all encompassing feeling and three little words hardly do it justice.
"And you don’t have to say it back. I’m just realizing as I see you process some sort of pain, as I see you trying to push me away, how much I want to help heal the pain and be there for you, always."
"I’d like that." I admit, honesty is on the table.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
My eyes flutter closed as Miguel cradles my head and presses his lips gently against mine. My arms slide around his back and I press him as close to me as possible.
Before our kiss can deepen further there’s a knock at the door.
"I’ll get it." I say as Miguel presses a kiss to my neck.
Behind me he gets a change of clothes and steps into the bathroom. I open the door and Dee is standing there with two full bags of take out and her eyes squeezed shut.
"Everyone decent?" She asks.
"Dee, I wouldn’t answer the door naked."
She opens one eye to double check.
"But is Miguel naked?" Her tone is hopeful.
"I’m changing." He calls from the bathroom.
"Dang." She mutters as she steps into the room. "I kind of wanted to know what you were working with."
I roll my eyes. "Boundaries Dee." With that reminder, I lead the way into the room. "Thanks for bringing dinner."
"Of course! If my bestie wants to celebrate her achievement with seventeen pounds of rice and fried food in sauces, who am I to object!"
"This is hardly the meal I expected you to approve of post race." I say to Miguel as he takes a seat at the desk.
"I took you for ice cream after your shoeless race." He says as he reaches for an egg roll. "Post race refueling is about calories in. Tomorrow we can make sure it’s nutritious."
"I can't believe you just get up and do it again." Dee says as she forks some rice into the lid from the garlic chicken and broccoli. On the rare occasions we’ve gotten take out, we always use the lids as plates to eliminate the need to clean up.
"It might be crazy, but," I glance up at Miguel. "I love it."
He smirks bashfully and I can’t wait to whisper the words to him as I fall asleep in his arms. Because, he’s right, I can barely have a thought without it involving him.
He’s generous, and has such a dry sense of humor. And he gets my world. He gets what I’m trying to do.
He’s giving me a chance to rewrite the history of the war my parents battled. Each swim, bike, run, workout, shared meal, and shared kiss healing the little girl who just wanted to see passion rewarded with support.
He’d never pit himself against my ambition and I love him all the more for it.
Chapter twenty-seven
