I’m determined to change that.
Yesterday was…well, it was like no other day I’ve had with a woman. We talked, we opened up, we shared parts ofourselves that I, for one, had never shared with a living soul before. And she understood. She got me.
She saw the real me—the private me, the parts of me I keep hidden—and she didn’t run away. She stayed, even opening up to share parts of herself with me. She held back. There are parts of her story she’s keeping locked away. But I’m hopeful that in time, she’ll trust me enough to tell me what she holds close.
Now, here in our bed, in this rain-drenched town in the middle of nowhere, I’m closer to this woman in my arms than I’ve ever felt to anyone in my life.
She stirs and lets out a soft sound that reaches inside and tugs at my heart. She lifts her hand from my arm to rub her eyes and then raises her head to look up at me.
“Good morning,” I murmur softly.
Blinking, realization dawns, and her whole body stiffens.
The moment’s gone.
She pulls away, sitting bolt upright. “I’m sorry. I…I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s fine. Really.”
She looks at me as though I had just told her the sky is green.
“You drooled on me,” I say with a smile.
Her mouth forms an O, which she instantly brushes with the back of her hand. “Oh, my gosh. How humiliating.”
“I think it’s cute.”
“Drool isn’t cute, Max.”
“Don’t tell Toffee that,” I reply, and my dog’s head lifts, her ears pricked as her tail begins to thump against the cushion.
Just as I feared, Fabiana leaps out of bed,pulling the blankets up to meet her pillow. “I’m going to use the bathroom. Good with you? Good.” She’s like a blur, buzzing around the room, collecting her clothes and darting into the bathroom.
Toffee and I share a look.
“Well, that happened,” I say, and she rushes over to me, her tail wagging. I pull the covers back. “Come on then, girl. I’ll take you outside.”
I throw on some clothes and take Toffee out. When we get back to the room, wet from the rain, Fabiana is dressed and packing her bag, her hair tied up in her usual ponytail, glasses back on. All signs of the woman who lay sleeping on my chest are now gone.
“We might not be leaving today,” I tell her as I remove my wet cap. “It’s still raining.”
“So, I shouldn’t pack?”
“Let’s get some breakfast and talk to the locals. They’ll have a handle on what’s happening.”
“Were you serious about pie for breakfast?”
“One thing you should know about me: I’m always serious about pie.”
She smiles, and it’s the first I’ve seen today. She slips on a jacket, and I pass her my spare cap.
Toffee trots along beside us as we make our way up the rain-soaked street to the bakery, which Fabiana located on her phone. Luckily, it’s open, and we shake off the rain as we head inside, the smell of fresh-baked goods making my belly rumble.
“This smells just like those pies did all those years ago,” she says, pulling her phone from her pocket and filming the scene.
The cabinet is filled with pies and pastries and colorful cakes, the wooden shelves above stacked with a variety of breads.
Fabiana removes her spectacles to wipe the rain away. “The problem with glasses.”
