means kissing on the couch by firelight until dawn. Ignore the ache of needing and wanting more burning inside, because what I want and what I need are not the same thing. Taking it slow means falling asleep on the couch, fully clothed. Waking up and having coffee, this time inside.
It means days like that, coffee and breakfast together, sometimes in my cabin, sometimes in hers. Talking all night, kissing like teenagers who’ve just discovered the art. But nothing more. Holding hands, touching faces. Learning lines and curves, learning bodies. Learning where the edge is, that line where the gunpowder of desire meets the spark of need. Skirting it.
Some nights, we sit up in the loft of her cabin, on the beanbag chair, my knees splayed wide with her back nestled to my front. Both of us reading, sometimes sharing thoughts, mostly not.
There’s as much silence as there is talk.
Taking it slow means the days grow shorter and the winds off the lake colder, and the pine trees sway and the lake produces wavelets and now making a fire in the evening is a necessity, because there’s no other heat source for these cabins. Taking it slow means kissing and kissing, knowing at some point we’ll cross into more, but still content to explore this space first.
It’s growing at ease with each other.
We become more and more comfortable in her cabin than mine. I sleep on the couch, sometimes.
We have not ventured into her bedroom.
I shower at my place, she at hers.
I’ve seen no more of her body than when I first met her.
She has days where she needs space, and I go fishing or work on carving in my cabin. Sometimes I’m the one who needs that space, and she gives it to me. And we understand.
Is it weeks? Months? I don’t know. Time just sort of slips by, unnoticed, here at these cabins on the lake.
I never finished Adrian’s book: we’re off-book, now. I will, at some point. Now, I’m following the script as we write it.
It’s fully fall, and being outside means thick sweaters and wool socks. It’s been a day where Nadia needs space, and I can tell this time it’s not because she’s missing him, but because she’s thinking. It’s the gloaming, silvery-purple autumn evening.
I find her on the dock; I can almost feel her out here, waiting to talk to me.
I sit in the chair beside hers. Wait for her.
“It’s like you knew I was going to come looking for you,” she says.
“I did.”
“Are you getting impatient?” she asks, eventually.
“With what?”
“Me. Us.” She turns in her chair to look at me. “Holding back.”
“I’m not holding back.”
“Nathan.” Her eyes are scolding, but her smile is understanding. “The truth, please, always.”
I sigh, think. “It’s not that I’m holding back. We’re taking our time exploring what it means for us to…be together. And I’m okay with that.” I reach out and take her hand. “Yeah, I’m a man, with a man’s desires and needs, and yeah, it’s been a hell of a long time. But I’ll wait. And I’m not waiting for you, I’m waiting for us.”
She rubs one of my knuckles with her thumb. “Thank you for being so patient. For understanding.”
“It’s as much for me as it is you, Nadia. I want this between us to be…right, and good. I’m not ready to rush into anything either. It’s new, for both of us.”
“But you’re still taking your cues from me as to…how far things go.”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “I’ve had more time, I guess. I know I’m as ready as I can be to be intimate with someone again. It’s a big step, and it’s not something I take lightly. I’m not gonna rush into that just because my dumb growly male hormones are being pushy. It means more to me than just something physical.”
“You are holding back what your dumb growly male hormones want, then.”
“Of course.”
She stands up, still holding my hand. “Let’s go in. I’m hungry.” On the way up the steps to her cabin, she glances up at me. “Nathan?”
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. “Yeah.”
“You’re spinning it to be about you, but really, it’s for me.”
“Yeah, maybe a little.”
“Or a lot.” She lifts up and kisses me, a slant-wise kiss across my lips. “And I just wanted to say thank you.” She touches my lips. “Don’t say anything else. I just want you to know that I see it, and I’m thankful.”
We go in, and we have a quiet dinner