Page 135 of True Colors

“Thank you, Anouk. For trusting me.”

“Thank you for earning my trust,” she replies.

My mother was right. The second climb was steeper; every step earned instead of given—but that effort changed the ground beneath us. It didn’t just bring us back together—I am confident that it gave us our forever.

CHAPTER 33

Anouk

Iforgive Luther, and I do trust him—mostly—but the relationship rebuilds on its own timetable. It doesn’t rush back or click neatly into place. It returns in fragments, uneven and gradual, shaped by time and consistency.

I doubt him at the strangest moments.

That hurts him. Then I feel guilty for hurting him, which makes him pull back, which makes me panic—and then we argue. And then we make up. Sometimes loudly. Sometimes naked.

Trust isn’t a lightning strike. It’s a quiet accumulation.

We’re dating openly now. Everyone knows—at work and in our personal lives. It isn’t awkward. It’s…fun.

I stay at his place more often than I go home. Finn walked in on us naked once, which accelerated that decision considerably. He made it weird. Very weird.

My toothbrush gains permanent residency next to his. My scarves migrate into a drawer in his dresser along with my panties and bras.

We fall into a rhythm that is earned rather than accidental—shared grocery lists, lazy mornings, evenings spent reading without the pressure to perform conversation.

We don’t talk about the future right away, but we circle it. Well, he does. He drops hints, lets the idea exist without naming it.

We’re learning about each other.

He hates aubergine, which is frankly unforgivable. What about moussaka?

Then again, I can’t stand squid—it’s the texture—and he is personally offended by that.

“No fried calamari?” he asks, like it’s a moral failing.

We make love…a lot. With enthusiasm.

Recently, we crossed “sex in the office” off the list.

Mortifying.

Reckless.

Ridiculously hot.

One of those bend-me-over-the-desk situations with a very real chance of being caught—and we did it anyway, then walked out feeling invincible.

Now that we’re essentially living together, the sex is slower, deeper.

He takes his time, exploring me with reverence rather than urgency—kisses along my collarbone, my shoulders, his mouth lingering as if he’s memorizing me. By the time he finally reaches me, I’m already undone, my body responding before my mind can catch up.

There’s laughter afterward.

Ease.

A sense of us that no longer feels fragile.

Six months pass in bliss.