"Lina," I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Let me take you to bed."
"Mmm," she mumbled, "…too tired."
She didn't say no.
I grinned. "I meant to sleep."
She chuckled, her eyes still closed. "Good, because I'd hate to have to kill you too."
I smiled, then picked her up, cradling her in my arms while she nestled her head in my chest.
Can you feel my heart racing, Catalina? If you can, I hope you know it's for you.
I turned down her hallway, knowing the layout of her house from all the nights I'd spent watching her, but this was the first time I'd seen her bedroom through anything but a window.
I wanted to look around, get a sense of the things she liked, what made her feel comfortable here, so if she ever stayed with me, I could make sure I had the same items in my home, but now wasn't the time.
Instead, I pulled her beige and brown sheets back, then laid her gently in bed. A single piece of long brown hair slid over her face, and I gently brushed it back over her ear.
“Should I braid your hair for you?”
“No, I’ll take care of it in the morning,” she said in a half-grumble, half-whispered voice.
I covered her, taking care to tuck her in snuggly. "Goodnight, Catalina.”
As I turned to leave, she grabbed the cuff of my shirt. "Stay."
"What?" My eyes widened, but she'd fallen back to sleep.
What should I do?
Did she mean for me to stay, as in sleep in her bed or in her house? I glanced at her bed. It was large enough for both of us. And the thought of holding her warm, soft body against mine sent a fierce surge of need through me. But how would she react if she saw me beside her in the morning?
I was certain that even if that was what she meant, she'd likely try to stab me first and ask questions later. I searched the room for a bench or chair I could sleep in instead, but then I saw some of the flowers I’d given her in a vase on her dresser.
I bought her new flowers every week. They were high quality and could last far longer than that, but I always wanted Catalina's office to be enveloped in a fresh floral scent. I didn't want to burden her with giving her something else she had to take care of, so I made sure they never wilted.
But I'd given her these flowers almost a month ago, and as I stepped closer, I noticed it was a hodgepodge of several of the bouquets I'd given her. She seemed to only get rid of them once they'd died, but the water was clear, and their stems were nicely trimmed.
She'd been meticulously caring for them, put them in her bedroom where she'd see them every time she entered or exited.
She's keeping the flowers I'd gotten her alive.
She cared about them. They mattered to her, and by extension,Imattered to her.
It may not be much, but it wassomething.
I walked out of her bedroom quietly, closing the door behind me, and took the couch, placing myself in the path between her front door and bedroom. I was a light sleeper, so I'd hear her and leave before she came out.
After all, even if she did remember that she asked me to stay, seeing me in her home would likely make her nervous.
It won't always be this way.One day, we would have a home together. One day, she wouldn't push me away.
One day I'd be able to call her mine.
13
Catalina
