We’re quiet for a moment, just looking at each other.
“Nick,” she says, "you're staring."
"I know," I admit. “I can’t help it.”
I lower myself onto one elbow beside her. I brush her hair back from her face with my other hand. Her cheeks are pink. Her pupils are wide. Her mouth is soft and a little open and she's the most vulnerable I have ever seen her. She isn’t the Sadie who took control of the wreck and looked after strangers, or the Sadie that moved to a whole new city to restart her life. She isn’t even the Sadie from the clinic or the diner.
Right now, I believe she is a version of herself she perhaps has never been before. A Sadie just for us.
"I want to remember this," I say. "Every part of it. I'm not going to rush through it. I'm going to take my time, and when we're done, you're going to know what it feels like to be touched by someone who isn't trying to take anything from you."
She inhales slowly and nods.
