‘Forgot to take my clothes in,’ he apologises, going to his suitcase and dragging out jeans, a long-sleeve dark T-shirt and underwear.
My eyes track his return journey to the bathroom, watching the rivulets of water dripping from his wet hair and running down his leanly muscled back. He closes the door and I bite my lip, flustered.
It’s probably a good idea we get out of this hotel room sooner, rather than later.
It is thebestday. We wander around Sydney’s botanical gardens and eat lunch at one of my favourite restaurants on the harbour, and, when it starts to rain, we head to a museum. At some point, he takes my hand and barely lets it go for the rest of the day.
But, by six o’clock, Alex is properly flagging, so we head back to his hotel to order room service. He sits on the bed to make the call, while I stay on a chair by the window, and, when he’s hung up, he flops back onto his pillows.
‘I’m knackered,’ he admits, looking over at me.
I return his smile.
‘Come here,’ he murmurs after several seconds have passed, edging backwards to make room for me.
I hesitate momentarily before kicking off my shoes, then I go over and settle onto the bed beside him. We lie with our heads resting on the pillows, facing each other.
Neither of us speaks, we just stare, his lips tilted up at the corners as he mirrors my expression.
I feel a pull from deep within me, and it’s almost as though strings are sprouting from inside me and are attaching themselves to him.
No, not strings.
Roots.
‘I love you,’ he whispers.
‘I love you, too,’ I reply.
He draws a sharp intake of breath and slowly reaches out to pull me closer. I’m happy to go to him, sighing contentedly as his fingers stroke over my hair.
As I rest my hand on his chest, I’m reminded of Lachie. He and I lay in this position almost every night for years.
Alex and I only had one night together.
Just one night.
He shouldn’t feel as familiar to me as he does.
Lachie drifts out of my mind again and there’s no anguish. I feel very much like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
Alex’s stomach rises and falls slowly and his hand stills in my hair. I draw away to stare down at his sleeping face, his dark lashes creating miniature fan shapes across the tops of his cheeks.
I am so full of love for him.
He jerks awake suddenly, his poor, tired eyes hazy from sleep deprivation. ‘Did I nod off?’ he gasps, looking out of sorts.
I trace my fingertips along the side of his face as his eyes come back into sharp focus. The moment draws out, and then we very slowly inch towards each other.
Our lips connect and shivers ripple up and down my spine, extending outwards to every nerve ending. He twists his body towards mine, his hands tangling in my hair, and my head spins as our kiss deepens. I feel dizzy and weak and, if I were standing, I don’t think my knees would hold me up.
He is an incredible kisser; he always was. His skilled tongue sweeps through my mouth, colliding with mine, and I feel delirious as I kiss him back.
Lachie flashes through my mind again, but it’s without guilt or regret. I realise then and there that I’m truly over him.
Bridget is right. This isourtime. Alex’s and mine.
It took us long enough to get here.
