His smile across the room is a beacon.
Like he’s the lighthouse and she’s the light, she centers herself around him. Feels his presence. She rotates away, worries pulling her into her head, into scary things she imagines, but he draws her back. Calms her.
“It’s ok,” he says. “I’m here.”
Has it only been a collection of days, a handful of months? The calendar doesn’t matter. She’s been his for far longer than that.
He doesn’t know he’s the best she’s ever had. She hasn’t told him that yet. But it’s so much more than sex. It’s more than his hand on the back of her neck, her throat. More than kisses that make her dizzy. She shudders when their tongues touch. Half school girl, half goddess—that’s how he makes her feel.
It’s more than the look in his eyes when he pulls back to gaze at her, then rasps, “I’m not done yet.”
It’s more than his goodnights and good mornings. His silly messages.
It’s everything he is. How he is. Who he is.
And it’s four softly uttered words she’s been waiting forever for.
“I love you, too.”