of adventure, and I listen, truly interested. But now that she has, I’m stumped to realize I never thought about it.
It takes me a few moments, but then I speak. “I’m … not sure. Maybe Italy, or France. For the art. I’d love to see the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel, or some of the works in the Louvre. I’d like to see these pieces that are so iconic, that were made centuries ago.”
Ryan nods, grinning from ear to ear. “The artist seeking his passion.”
“Something like that.” I nod. “But, that’ll take a lot of clock towers. You know anyone else looking for a new one?”
Ryan taps her chin. “Not that I can think of. But, don’t worry … someday, we’ll go see those places. Together.”
It’s the first time she’s said the word someday, and my heart begins to bloom with the possibility.
31
Ryan
Fletcher and I lay in bed after having sex, our labored breathing mingling as our legs tangle in each other and the sheets.
He brushes my hair behind my ear, a quiet smile ghosting over his lips.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I ask, curious.
While he’s always honest, there are a lot of moments where Fletcher goes quiet. I’ve learned this about him in the time we’ve spent together. I’ve never asked why, but I think he’s trying to fight away those demons in his mind. Should I tell him I know all too well what that’s like?
“Why did it take us so long, do you think?” he asks, twirling a lock of hair in his finger.
“Why do you think it got so deep, so quickly?” Because to me, everything seemed to happen so fast.
Fletcher seems to ignore my question. “I think … I’ve spent a lot of the last few years denying myself every urge. The urge to drink, the urge to fuck, the urge to get close to someone or make something of myself. See, Ryan, my brain has taught itself that when I really do want something, it’s probably bad for me. Alcohol? Ruined my fucking life and I wanted every drop of it desperately. From there, every base need was detrimental, and it stripped away who I was, right to the core. I had to build myself back up. I wanted to be worthy of you, Ryan.”
I love that he only calls me by my name, and not babe or baby or sweetheart. I’ve wanted to hear those endearments from men in my past, but the fact that he says my full name every time he’s talking to me … it almost seems more intimate.
And the confession … my lord.
A streak of moonlight dusts over his hair as I skim his temple with my thumb. “You’re more than worthy. The way your brain works, my brain works.”
“Is it too fast for you?” He pulls me in closer, if that’s even possible with how snug our bodies are fit against each other right now.
I don’t need to think before I shake my head. “Maybe a part of me was delaying the inevitable. I think we both know that there is … something unspoken that connects us. I thought I knew what having a spark with someone was like, but this is different. When I saw you for the first time, there was just this … shift. Not one that was difficult, or some flame that I was trying to keep alive … it was just there. This constant buzz that I knew would be so right when I finally acknowledged it, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? Sometimes we avoid the things we know will complete us because we think we’re not ready.”
Fletcher’s eyes bore into mine. “I’m ready.”
In the quiet of our bedroom, I feel more vulnerable than I have in my entire life. Like a nerve that’s been exposed, trying not to get shocked.
“Me too,” I whisper.
Looking at him, I know I am. Maybe I had to go through those bad times, the periods of my life when I thought I’d never find someone to truly love me … that I’d never find someone to be my family.
But what I’d said to Fletcher at the restaurant had been true; I had been looking for someday, and with him, I could finally picture it.
32
Ryan
After a long day of teaching, which is really only eight to one but feels like three years, I head to Presley’s studio for a much-needed yoga practice.
My muscles are tense and stiff after a day trying to get through