Am I disappointed?
Alright, these episodes have got to stop. This is getting ridiculous.
“I just didn’t want to disturb you.” I climb out of the cocoon and sit up straight, smoothing out my hair, “Give you space and all.” My cheeks feel warm as he tilts his head to the side and smiles at me.
“Are we getting wild tonight?”
“Wha—what?” I choke.
“Are you a wild sleeper?” His eyes travel all over me and the bed and the mess I’ve already made of the comforter.
“Oh.” I laugh, mostly at the absurdity of where my mind landed at the wordwildcoming from his lips. “No. I am a very still sleeper. You have nothing to worry about.” I will my voice steady and smooth the comforter out in front of me.
“Good.” He leaps onto the bed next to me, the force of his landing bouncing me into the air, before settling into the pillows and stretching his arms above his head. “We can’t both be wild.” The blue in his eyes sparkles with a playful mischief I haven’t seen from him as he smiles up at me.
The warmth in my cheeks travels down my neck and into my chest, settling there. A comforting yet confusing-as-heck feeling. An all-too-real description of everything going on in my head lately.
In a matter of days, my feelings for Malcolm have gone from comforting to confusing. What happened under the mistletoeset off alarms in my head that trigger anytime he does anything remotely enticing or attractive. It’s not like I’ve never seen the man without a shirt, or that he’s nevertouchedme before, but for some reason, every piece of me is aware that it’s Malcolm doing these things. It’s Malcolm touching my thigh or my back. It’s Malcolm whispering in my ear. It’s freaking Malcolm in my bed. And for some unexplained reason, I keep looking for these moments to happen again.
We stare at each other for a long moment, the reality of the bed situation thickening the air around us. I don’t know about Malcolm, but I am freaking out. He’s always been very calm in high-stress situations—not like this even holds a candle to a war zone or anything—but I feel myself watching him, looking for signs of stress. His eyes flicker as they move all over my face. Can he sense my stress? He doesn’t say anything if he can. I see his hand twitch and his jaw tick before he forces his gaze on the ceiling.
“So…” He stretches, filling out the entire length of the bed. “Let’s take a look at this match.”
“Ugh.” I crumble into the pillows. “Can we not?”
“Oh, come on. Someone needs to point out all the bad things about these guys. Keep things realistic.”
“You look, then.” I toss my phone at him.
“Gladly.” His eyes sparkle as he sits up, opening the app and proceeding to the unopened matches I’ve received today. “Let’s see here.” He scrolls, and I resist the urge to peek over his shoulder. A mixture of emotions moves across his face—surprise, amusement, and annoyance. He judges each match carefully before he says, “None of these will work.”
“What? Why?” I snatch the phone from his hand and skim through the options. A veterinarian, a personal trainer, and a coffee shop owner grace my screen. My eyebrows pinch as I read each profile. One is my height, one hunts for a hobby, andthe other hates sports. “They aren’t that bad,” I say, trying to convince myself more than him.
“Maybe not, but you deserve better.”
“Debatable.” The woman whose own mother doesn’t have time for her. Or the woman that was left for a job promotion after a three-year-long relationship. Clearly, there is something wrong with me that the people I try to love can’t seem to love me back for very long. “Maybe it’s me.” My voice is a whisper as the scary truth floats in the air like a black cloud.
“It’s not. You are never the issue.” His words are serious and sharp, a finality to them.
“Right,” I try to agree, but my words lack confidence. I can’t help but question my ability to attract someone, anyone, let alone just by a few words and photos. I’ve been out of the dating scene for so long I have no idea what I’m even doing anymore. It’s far from riding a bike, like Emma suggested.
And the thought of opening myself up to another person after Eric makes my insides rumble.What if they see the real me and run?
“I’m serious. Any man who doesn’t see your worth has no idea what they’re missing.” He sits up, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his chest. “You are everything a man could hope for,” he whispers into my hair, letting out a heavy sigh into the wild heap on top of my head.
I reach my arms around his waist and squeeze, feeling the tension in his back relax under my arms. He always knows how to make me feel better, even when I don’t know what I need. Physical touch has always been a point of contention for Malcolm, resisting hugs or pats from anyone and everyone he can. But over the last five years, we’ve found ourselves like this often, leaning on each other, entangled in a hug that feels so warm and safe that I never want to leave it.
We lie there in silence, listening to the waves lap against the shore and ocean air whip around the palm trees outside of our window. After a few minutes, his breathing slows, and I know he’s asleep.
The awkwardness I was dreading tonight disappears as I settle into his arms and let my eyes drift closed.
See, Kate, everything is fine.
Sweat trickles down my chest as I lie on the beach, my olive skin getting dark and toasty.
The sun is so bright, distorting my view, when I notice the outline of a tall figure approaching. It gets closer, and I see the swelling outline of bulging shoulders and biceps, holding a fruity drink in one hand and a book in the other. It’s a blur at first, but the vision comes into focus as well-defined abs lengthen and flex with each step closer. Drops of salty ocean water travel down ridges of muscle. The figure has a beard and is wearing sleek sunglasses. He makes his way to me and hovers at my feet, eclipsing the light from the sun as he leans down to crawl toward me. The heat that was baking my chest turns to ice, sending a trail of goosebumps up and down my body as he inches closer. A familiar minty scent hits my lips as he lets out a breath inches from my face. The bright rays start to dissipate, making his face clearer as the distance between us closes.
My dream is interrupted by a whimpering moan. My eyes flutter open as the scene around me refocuses. My head is nestled into the crook of Malcolm’s arm.
