I somewhat meant it as a joke, but Taio has built a fort.
No, not a fort. This is a palace—a cathedral of blankets and pillows and string lights, stretching from the massive sectional couch to the fireplace, where flames crackle and dance behind glass. He’s raided every closet and linen cabinet in the place, constructing walls of Egyptian cotton and supports made from chair cushions and decorative pillows. Fairy lights, stolen from the patio, wind through the structure like captured stars, casting everything in a warm, golden glow.
It’s ridiculous. It’s magical. It’s exactly what I need for this moment. It’s nothing like I pictured for my first time. It’s better.
I stand in the entryway, hand pressed to my chest, feeling my heart expand in ways I didn’t know were possible. He did this for me. While I was in the bathroom overthinking everything, he was out here creating a sanctuary. A place where the outside world can’t touch us.
Taio crawls out from beneath the canopy of blankets, and when he sees me standing there, his expression reveals a kaleidoscope of emotions—his eyes widening with relief, then darkening with want, his smile both shy and certain all at once.
“There is admittedly room for improvement,” he says, like there’s anything in my eyes but visceral adoration.
“It’s a tall ask to improve upon perfection, don’t you think?” My voice comes out small, still processing. I take a step toward him, and another. Slow, reticent steps, but still…brave.
“Is this tacky? I’m trying to be sweet, but maybe you want sexy. TheMagic Mikeversion of Taio?”
I nod at him seriously. “Oh, I always want theMagic Mikeversion of Taio, but just so you know, sweetissexy. I’m nervous.” I point to the fort. “I really needed this. Thank you.”
“I promised I’d build you one everywhere we go.” He gestures to his creation with exaggerated pride. “You just let me know anytime the world feels too big, Charlie Riley. I’ll shrink it for you.”
A laugh-sob escapes me, releasing the knot that’s been sitting in my chest. “My hero.”
“Want to see the inside?” He holds aside a blanket flap like a doorman at a fancy hotel, and I duck through the opening into the heart of his creation. Inside, it’s even more magical—layers of soft blankets covering the floor, pillows arranged into a nest, the firelight filtering through the fabric walls to paint everything in shades of amber and gold. It’s like being inside a cocoon. Safe. Warm. In another world.
Taio ducks in behind me, and the fort seems to contract around us. Not in a suffocating way—in the way a blanket wraps tighter when you need it most. I can hear his breathing, count his heartbeats, feel the heat radiating from him though we’re barely touching. The inches between us feel charged, alive with possibility.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi.”
The air in here becomes charged, humming, like the moment right before lightning strikes. His shoulders are set at careful angles, maintaining those precious few inches of space even in our blanket refuge. Every movement feels deliberate—his hands resting on his knees, his chest rising with measured breaths. He’s waiting. Watching. The ball is in my court, and we both know it.
“Taio. Come closer.” I reach for his hand, pulling him to me. He exaggerates his movements as if I have the strength toyank this man anywhere. Yet, he slouches down and bumps his shoulder to mine playfully.
“Why are you nervous?” His free hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. “Outside of the obvious, of course.”
“I’m worried you won’t like it. How can I make you happy when I don’t know what I’m doing?”
His fingers thread between mine like roots seeking soil, and I grip his hand so tightly my knuckles pale. “You don’t know what you do to me?”
“Not really.”
He brings the back of my hand to his lips. “Let me explain. I used to tear through a book a day before I met you, and now I’ve read almost nothing in weeks.”
“So I’m distracting?” I poke my tongue at him. “That’s all you got?”
“You made me want my own story. That’s everything, Charlie. The whole damn point. You gave me something no one else could. Freedom…from myself. So don’t be nervous about making me happy, because you’ve already found a way to help me feel whole.”
There is no appropriate response to that except a kiss.
I swing a leg over his lap, settling on top of him, and his hands hover at my knees, tentative. It’s like he’s afraid to touch me and break the moment. So I do the touching for both of us—palms on either side of his face, thumbs tracing the stubble at his jawline. I kiss him slow and soft at first, then deeper, letting my fingers map the familiar geography of his cheekbones and ears, the warm silk of his neck, the scar that interrupts his left eyebrow. He tastes like bubblegum toothpaste of all things, but before I can ask and accuse him of having a child’s hygiene regimen, he slips his hands around my waist, anchoring me in his gravity, and I lose the impulse to be funny.
He kisses back like he’s been waiting all day, which, given the suspense of the last few hours, he probably has. His lips are careful, reverent, but his hands aren’t. They climb the curve of my back. I let him. His hands slip up, unhurried, exploring every inch of me through the whisper-thin cotton. Two fingers hook under the strap, dragging it down my shoulder, exposing the line where my neck turns soft. I tip my chin, baring more for him. He sets his mouth to my collarbone, teeth grazing, tongue following, then plants a kiss at the spot that pulses with my heartbeat.
He traces the edge of my bra, then pulls the cups outward, and his pupils blow wide. He hesitates for a beat, waiting for my permission. I give a small nod and he grins against my throat before pulling the tank up and off with such ceremony it makes me giggle.
“They’re small, I know,” I whisper as he unhooks my bra and tosses it aside. His hands cup me gently, fingers splayed across my skin, easily covering the entirety of my chest, and for a moment I can’t help comparing myself to invisible others—women with curves that spill over palms, women whose bodies have left their imprints in his memory.
His careful restraint gives way to something hungrier, though still gentle. He pulls me closer, one hand sliding into my damp hair, and kisses me hard. “I’m sorry, babe. I was so focused on being good to you, maybe I should’ve been louder about how good I can make you feel.”
