The Seas Between Us

Chapter Fifteen

T he morning passed in a haze. I worked and chatted and joked, and worked some more. My hair was sweaty and sticking to my forehead, partly from moving back and forth so much, but more so because I went right to bed after last night. I didn’t shower the sand off of me, or the sweet scent of Merrow’s skin. The only thing I did before going to sleep was relieve the strain in my pants, until my muscles were relaxed and overheated. I didn’t rinse away the layer of sweat from the heat of the day either. Frankly, I felt gross, but I woke up too late to shower.

I slept without dreaming, so soundly that when I got up, that endless tired ache was gone.

Merrow promised to meet me here, and as the hours ticked on, I watched the clock closer and closer. The crowd of customers was steady enough that Anne Marie and Sean didn’t have the time to really chat past barking orders at each other. By 11:30, Merrow sent a text message with a couple of hearts. Nothing else, just two blue hearts. I sent her a couple of hearts back, and asked if she would be there soon. She sent a simple smiley face as a reply, and I took that as a yes. Anne Marie and Sean buzzed back and forth until they noticed me on my phone.

“Listen loverboy, I love that you’re finally dating, but like, it’s stupid busy. Text her later. What is she even saying that’s got you grinning like a fool?” Anne Marie said. Sean grabbed my phone, and laughed.

“They’re just sending emojis to each other,” he said, and handed it back to me.

“Okay that’s kinda dumb cute, but you’re three orders behind. You can clock out after you finish those. I’m guessing you’re gonna see her right after?” Anne Marie said while mixing up an iced blended concoction. They were sugar bombs, but tasty ones that sold like crazy as soon as the weather warmed up.

“Yeah, I’m not sure what we’re going to do yet. I guess just hang out. We’re gonna meet here–”

“Actually, go. I love you but you’re gross. I’ll keep her entertained if she arrives early. Seriously go. You can’t go on a date when you smell like that .”

“I don’t smell that bad–”

“Agree to disagree, friend. See you soon!” Anne Marie pecked my cheek and swatted me with a towel. Sean took the order tickets from me and I slipped out the back. Seagulls cawed overhead and the sky was clear. I took in a lungful of salty air and counted my blessings. It was good to be alive–between the art show and Merrow, it seemed like things were finally going my way. Carla and Liz sent me some contracts to review so I could be a regular vendor at their gallery. More shows, more of my pieces made into prints and bookmarks, more visibility. I practically choked on the thought. Visibility. Me. I’d spent every moment of my life trying to be invisible, and now something like confidence warmed my chest. Maybe things were turning around.

My paint splattered apartment felt homey as I walked in, and I realized that I wanted to make it feel even more homey. I didn’t have family to hang photos of, but maybe I could take a picture with Merrow, or with Anne Marie and Sean. They were my friends–and that was what friends did, wasn’t it?

There was a spring in my step as I got myself cleaned up. I found my least paint-splattered clothes and got dressed. A white shirt I bought last year when Anne Marie forced me to go on some disastrous dates. I had some linen shorts that I bought on a whim, convinced that one day I’d need some nicer shorts too. The look together made me feel like an artist, and it was secretly something I’d try on every now and then, just to convince myself that my art was worthy of being art. I’d never told a soul, and kept the clothes in different parts of my closet, like someone would know if they ever opened the door.

The man in the mirror looked… happy. I played with my wet hair, tousling it back and forth, trying to make it look windswept, but instead it looked like I’d been electrocuted. After too long, I settled for just combing it out, and gently raking my fingers through it.

I’d never spent more time primping in front of a mirror in my life.

My lips still looked swollen. Was that possible? God, I hoped that Anne Marie and Sean didn’t notice that. I shaved the little bit of a beard that tried to form along my jawline, and was ready. A text notification made me race for my phone laying on my bed when I saw Merrow’s name pop up.

Another string of emojis: a coffee cup, a blue heart, and a smiling face with rosy cheeks.

I sent her back a guy running with a flower.

Should I bring her flowers? Merrow seemed like the type that would enjoy receiving the whole plant instead of just the flower. I had a hard time imagining her plucking a flower for her own pleasure when she could admire it growing.

More hearts were sent back, and that sealed the deal: I had to bring her flowers today. I’d save the plant for next time .

My heart picked up at the idea of the next time .

Within a few minutes, I was back out the door and stopping at a small flower market a few doors down from my apartment building. It was in the opposite direction, but the idea wouldn’t leave me be.

I immediately gravitated toward the lilies; so large and lovely. The pink ones matched her hair, and I decided to get just one for her to tuck into her pretty pink hair. With the flower wrapped up, I headed back to Beans and Barley.

Merrow sat by the window, poking at her phone like she’d never seen one before, like it was some alien object. I chuckled; she was the most unique person I’d ever met. Her lips wrapped around the straw of what looked to be one of those iced blended drinks, and she smiled to herself.

It would be the perfect scene to paint–a girl enjoying her drink and a quiet moment of joy all for herself. I loved those moments. It was the best part about working at Beans and Barley, aside from the free coffee itself.

I ordered a couple of scones, and Merrow was startled when I appeared at the table. She had a tiny bit of whipped cream at the corner of her mouth. I wanted to lick it.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hello Owen,” she said, and just watching her mouth form the sounds of my name made my blood run hot under my skin. She offered me her drink, but Anne Marie was already buzzing over to set an iced coffee in front of me. She winked and was back behind the counter before I could even thank her.

“How was the rest of your night?” I asked, swallowing the lump that formed in my throat. Her eyes seemed to darken and she licked her lip, noticing the whipped cream there.

I swallowed again.

“It was nice, I slept soundly. ”

“You said last night that you saw me while I was going to the beach. Do you live on the boardwalk?”

“Visiting, but yes. I’m staying with my family. They own the Saltwater Sisters’ Cafe. It’s not terribly far from here,” Merrow said as she picked at the scone. She pulled a blueberry out, examined it–did she sniff it?–and then popped it in her mouth. She nibbled the scone with such curiosity that I wanted to just watch her eat.

“I didn’t realize there was space there for someone to stay. I’ve been a few times. They have good taffy, but it’s not really my favorite,” I said, tugging at a thread on my shirt. Why did I mention that I didn’t like the taffy?

“Me either, actually. It’s kind of… terrible?” she said, snorting with laughter. It was the strangest sound she’d ever made, like a wheezing, hiccuping laugh. The sound shocked her too, and she laughed harder, making the noise again and again.

“Oh goddess, what was that sound?” she laughed, trying to gulp down some air to get the weird hiccup to stop, only making it worse. I cackled, and she snorted again.

“I think you snorted.”

“That’s a tragic sounding word,” Merrow said, sipping her drink. Anne Marie had mixed in lavender cream, giving the vanilla blend a soft, purple hue. “What is this purple stuff? I love it.”

“Lavender. Have you had it in a drink before?”

“No! But I think it should be in everything now.”

“I haven’t made them in a long time, but I’ve made some really amazing lemon and lavender cookies before. Would you want to try making them?” I pictured Merrow with flour in her hair and concentrating so hard on the instructions.

“I’ve never made a cookie before,” she admitted and her cheeks were as pink as her hair. Everything about her was cute.

“How do you feel about making cookies with me, Merrow? ”

She grinned, a wild and free grin that I’d only glimpsed once before when we kissed last night. I wanted to kiss her again, maybe just to taste the lavender syrup on her lips. Merrow sipped her drink again, eyes closing in a sugary bliss, and finished it. Her slightly webbed hand reached across the table, and we laced our fingers together, as much as we could.

“I love your hands,” I said without thinking. The L-word just popped out of my mouth like any other normal, not intensely personal word. But I did. I did love them. I’d been dreaming of those delicate hands all my life, and it still felt like I’d summoned a dream.

“My hands? Why? They’re not exactly pretty. You know I wanted to learn the harp, but I couldn’t because of the webbing.”

“Really?”

“My fingers don’t bend enough, but it does make me a decent swimmer.”

“A regular fish out of water, huh?” I joked and she went perfectly still for just a second, before a grimacing smile tried to replace the horror from my stupid joke. How many times had she heard that line before? I’m an ass.

“I’m sorry–that, that was a dumb thing to say.” She relaxed a fraction; her shoulders weren’t trying to touch her ears now, and she picked at the scone some more. Merrow had let go of my hand.

We sat in an awkward, but not too awkward, silence. She watched the stream of people coming in and out of the coffee shop, and I watched her. Every thought she had was written on her face, displayed for anyone to notice. Merrow crinkled her nose when she didn’t like something about someone. She chewed on her lip as she watched a couple of friends stand arm in arm, laughing about something on their phones. She played with the ends of her hair when people looked at her too much, and when she really thought that I wasn’t looking, she stared at me.

The coffee shop had hit its peak, and for the rest of the day there would only be a few customers here or there. Anne Marie and Sean took turns flirting and cleaning, a quip and a cleaning cloth passing between them as easily as the air moved around us.

“Did you still want to go make cookies? We just need to stop by the store–”

“Yes,” she said, the word coming out so fast, she probably didn’t hear the end of my question. I stood and offered my hand, hoping she saw the apology there.

Our fingers interlaced again and I led her to the grocery store a few blocks from my house. I grabbed some of the lavender extract and dried buds before we left the shop, because those were harder to find. Merrow volunteered to carry the basket while I picked up everything else that we needed. She also wanted some chips and other little snacks, so our small hand basket was soon overflowing.

“I promise to feed you actual food, instead of just desserts,” I said. There wasn’t a ton of food in my apartment, but we could order some takeout. I wondered if she liked Thai food. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Umm, well I really like fish,” she said.

“Ever had Thai food? I bet there’s something with fish we can get for you.”

“Sounds good!” She stayed close to me in line as we paid for our stuff, her hand slipping into the crook of my arm. It felt natural. Normal. Like my elbows only existed to be perches for her tiny, webbed hands.

She helped carry the bags, even when I insisted on doing it for her. The heat had intensified in the short while we were in the store, and stepping out of the air conditioning felt like walking into a sauna. The humidity made my skin damp and the summer heat clung to me like a second skin. Merrow groaned from the heat too, swiping at her now-limp hair. The few blocks to my apartment felt like an eternity away. When we finally arrived, we dropped the groceries on the counter. Merrow had been quiet the whole way, but her silence was welcoming instead of weird .

“Lunch first? Or cookies first?”

“Lunch,” she said, plopping heavily on my couch. I’d left a sketchbook there, and Merrow picked it up to examine it. She flipped through the first few pages until she stopped on a sketch that could have been a black and white study of her. Aside from the obvious lack of a mermaid tail, the woman in my sketch was nearly identical to Merrow.

“When did you draw this?” she asked, her fingers playing with the corner of the sketchbook. It felt like a nervous habit, but the rest of her seemed so utterly calm, that the fidgeting stood out like a warning for the emotions she tried not to show.

“About a year ago, I think. That’s one of my older sketchbooks. I was looking for some more pieces for the gallery. They want me to pick stuff out for them to make prints of, can you believe it?”

“You’re very talented, Owen. I’m not surprised that other people see that. It’s hard to miss.”

“Thanks,” I said, and my cheeks flushed red. She gave such gentle and easy praise. It made me want to fidget. Her words gripped me tight, and I wanted her to praise me again. Anything. Any reason to have her focus on me.

“She really does look like me,” Merrow finally said.

“I know, it’s kinda freaky. I mean, I don’t think we’ve ever met. I’d remember you.”

“Did you dream of me? Do you dream of me, Owen?” Her voice dropped to a soft, lilting whisper. I came and sat next to her on the couch. Her bare feet on the cushions felt like an invitation to touch her again, and God, how I wanted to.

“Would it be weird to say that I dreamt of you a lot?” She kicked me with her foot and placed her legs across my lap.

“What did you dream about? ”

“Well, it’s hard to describe. Sometimes it would just be water. Sometimes I’d see you–well, the mermaid that looked like you–and she would be swimming. Sometimes she would sing, and I’d follow her voice. Sometimes I couldn’t even see her, but I knew she was there? Like, I felt her presence just out of my line of sight, but I knew she was there. She’d show me places in the ocean that I never knew existed. Caves and shipwrecks, and sometimes she would show me different animals. Like sea turtles and fish. She acted like my own personal guide to ocean life,” I said, noticing that I was out of breath. These were the secrets I’d guarded my whole life. The images of her, the dreams where I felt safe and like I mattered. Each night as a child, I’d pray that sleep would take me quickly and I’d dream of the ocean.

Being a kid in and out of foster homes was never fun. I moved around so much that this little apartment was the first place that had ever felt like a home. No one ever came here, aside from the odd delivery person. It was my space, my sanctuary. And now I've brought Merrow here not once, but twice. She settled in like she had always been here, like this apartment was actually her home too, and I was just too slow to realize it.

“Those sound like wonderful dreams,” Merrow said. She stroked my cheek, and I leaned into her touch. I’d never particularly understood what being touch-starved was until now: I craved every brush and graze of her hands. The weight of her body pressed against me was a warm welcomed memory.

“They were,” I said when I finally caught my breath.

“Breathe, Owen,” she chuckled. Her toes dug into my side, her knees drawing up. The hem of her dress slid down her thighs, and I stole a glance. Her skin was lusciously, gorgeously fair, like not even the sun got to see her thighs.

Her panties were pink just like her hair and I forced my eyes up, looking at her face .

“I’m breathing,” I said, my chest desperately trying to collapse in on itself. Had I ever wanted a woman like I did her? What was it about Merrow that drew me in, like the moon calling the tides to bend to her whim?

“Weren’t we going to get lunch?” she said, reclining back on the couch. For just a second–I hoped it wasn’t more than that–I watched her chest rise and fall, rise and fall. Her breathing was rhythmic and calming. Her nipples peaked under the thin fabric of her dress as she raised her arms, leaning into the stretch.

“Thai okay with you?”

“I’ve never had it.”

“Really! It’s my favorite. I’ll grab the menu and you can get whatever you want,” I said. It was barely noticeable, but I felt Merrow tense up. Her legs were still in my lap, and her eyes were open, darting around. I handed her my phone so she could scroll through and pick out what she wanted.

“Read the menu to me?” she asked. The word menu came out like men-new . She tucked her hands behind her head, closing her eyes again. An undercurrent of tension rolled off of her, but I didn’t press it.

I started reading out noodle dishes, rice dishes, stir fries, and explaining each one. She chewed on her bottom lip, before finally saying, “I don’t know where to start! Order two of your favorite.”

“Do you like spicy food?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” I laughed, and Merrow grimaced. Almost. She started to, but schooled her face.

“I’m not really feeling it,” she said, smiling.

“I’ll get yours not-spicy. They don’t have fish, is crab or shrimp okay?” Her eyes lit up then, and I felt like I’d won the lottery.

“Shrimp please!” With lunch ordered, we stayed together on the couch. Merrow was still reclined, and the tension seeped back out of her. Maybe she just got nervous to try new foods. Maybe it was just that, and not that she was suddenly deciding that she didn’t want to be here with me.

“Are you alright, Merrow?” I asked, my nerves getting the best of me. I didn’t want to ruin this, whatever this turned out to be.

“Yes, I’m fine. Why?” she propped up on her arms, that pink hair falling off her shoulder.

“You just seemed… tense,” I said softly. “If I–”

“I can’t read well,” she blurted out. “So, I try not to. I just, it’s just a little embarrassing.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize–”

“Of course you wouldn’t, I hadn’t told you.” She sat up fully. Our hands found each other again and I opened my arm for her to scoot closer. Her head rested on my shoulder, and I stroked long, easy circles on her back. Merrow’s sigh tickled against my neck.

“Do you think me dumb?” she finally said, her voice so small.

“Not at all.”

“Really?” Merrow leaned back so our faces were close again–so close to our lips brushing against each other–and she held my eyes steady.

“Really.”

“I hate pity,” she said and I only nodded. I did too. I hated the cloying politeness that always came when the words foster home came out of my mouth. Poor child. Poor Owen. I’d stopped talking about those days long ago–bringing them up served no one.

“I was in foster care, so I know what you mean. Any time someone found that out, there went any credibility that I had. It was like their well-meaning pity would swallow everything else and left only the worst parts of me. Well, what they imagined anyway.” She brushed my hair back, leaning up to press a kiss to my forehead.

Her breasts were very, very close to my face.

“It’s hard for me to imagine that any part of you is terrible. ”

“You should really be a life coach, Merrow. Everything you say is so kind and uplifting. You could change people’s whole outlooks on themselves.”

“As long as they don’t ask me to read to them, I suppose.” She laughed, but hadn’t moved away. She put her head on top of mine and hugged me.

Her breasts were very, very, very close to my face. They were touching my face. And this was fine. Because I was a gentleman and I wasn’t going to do a damn thing until, unless , she–

She sat back down, settling in my lap. Her legs had fully straddled me, and her dress was definitely higher on her thighs.

Because I was seeing a lot of thigh.

I swallowed.

“Owen, I feel like I am being very clear,” she murmured. The hair on my arms stood up.

“You are?” She mmmed against my ear, hugging me. Her body fit against me like we had been craved from the same stone; two halves, fitting back together as if they had never been cleaved apart.

The idea for a painting danced in my head, still abstract, but I saw it trying to form. No, it would be in pencils because the greyscale would help the feeling of the stone being cracked open–

“I want you to kiss me again, like last night under the stars. I want you to kiss me when we aren’t wrapped in darkness. I want to see the desire in your eyes when you kiss me until I see a different set of stars,” she murmured.

Our foreheads stayed together for a long moment. I rolled my hips forward, settling her more against my lap. Her pupils were blown, those blue eyes swallowed by the gleaming blackness. Her barely parted lips were so desperately kissable, that I gave in. My hands roved over her back, bringing her back down to my mouth.

This had to be what starlight felt like, if I could ever touch it. Soft and electric, lighting up every nerve in my body with just the faintest touch of her lips .

“Owen,” she breathed against my mouth.

I kissed her again, deepening the kiss until she moaned against me. My shorts felt too tight and my nice linen shirt was crumpled from Merrow grabbing fists of it. Her nails grazed my skin as the button came open. Those touches were electric, and I needed more of her.

Lifting her easily, I carried her to my bed without breaking contact. Merrow laid on the bed before me, her knees falling open, beckoning me to her. I crawled on top of Merrow, leaning heavily on my arm so I didn’t crush her.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” I said. It was the honest truth, and it felt so nice to just say it. To tell her those words, because I had the nagging feeling she did not hear them nearly enough.

She pulled me down, and I lost my balance, landing heavily on her. Her laughter broke the spell between us, the tension that was building, until we both laughed. The kisses that came were light, peppering any place that we could reach.

“This has been the best day,” she said.

“And it’s only a little after noon. We still have the rest of the day together, unless you have plans.”

“No plans. I’d love that, really.” Merrow kissed my nose and the doorbell rang. Our lunch had arrived and she pulled me down for another hug before letting me up to answer the door. Her hair was a mess now, sticking out in places, and she didn’t notice or care. The braid was out of sorts, but she simply pushed it off her shoulder. I’d remember what those silky strands felt like for the rest of my life.

“Can you get the plates out? Top cabinet, by the fridge,” I said as I tipped the delivery guy. It was the same guy that delivered Thai for me every week. I was practically written into their schedule at this point .

Merrow pulled a chair over to the counter and climbed up so she could reach the top of the cabinets. I had the plates up higher than her arms could reach; it was fine for me, but not for someone a head shorter than me.

She grabbed two plates while I unpacked our lunch. Watching her face change and react to the smell of the food was another motion worthy of being captured on canvas. Merrow liked to eat–every time I’d seen her nibble on anything, her eyes lit up and her mouth curled up in happy, tender smiles.

God, she was just so damn cute .

“This one isn’t spicy,” I said, serving her a large portion on my mismatched blue plates. I bought a few cheap ones and then found some cool mosaic plates at the thrift store. I liked how they didn’t match but still seemed to fit together.

Merrow stared at the noodles and vegetables, until her eyes settled on a large shrimp. She picked it up with her fingers and popped the whole thing in her mouth–tail and all.

“This is amazing ,” she sighed, grabbing another shrimp.

“Try the noodles,” I said, offering her a fork. She took it hesitantly, setting it on the table, while she licked the sauce off of her fingers. She waited to try anything else until I had my own plate ready. The small, paint covered kitchen table fit the two of us perfectly. When I bought it, I told myself I should have two chairs, just in case I needed one of them for my artwork. Deep down, I wanted the second chair in case there was another person to share meals with. That felt like another secret, another piece that Merrow had laid bare.

I took a bite of the noodles, and she watched my hand move from the plate to my mouth before she picked up her own fork. Her fingers fumbled with the fork, but she eventually got it. It was like Merrow hadn’t used a fork before, but I dismissed the thought almost immediately. Everyone has used a fork before .

“This is my favorite food now,” she said, spearing another noodle and piece of shrimp. She ate the tail again, and I tried not to think about that too closely. Who eats the tails?

“It’s the best, right? I order from this place way too much.”

“I see why!” Merrow wiggled in her chair, a little dance as she took each bite of food. She ate the entire thing, spearing a couple vegetables from my plate and trying those too. “Oh, I like this. I like spicy.”

I spooned a few more vegetables on her plate, and she danced in her chair some more. “I like watching you eat. You look so happy,” I said. Anne Marie mentioned that she enjoyed watching people eat when she baked, and I wonder if this was why. Some protective instinct in me told me that this was good, this was right. Primal, ancient–feeding and protecting, things I had always wished people would do for me.

“Food is a lot like kissing, I think. Both warm me through, just in different places.” She said it so nonchalantly, like telling me about the weather, when she talked about the heat between her legs.

I dropped my fork and Merrow burst out laughing. “Want to get started on the cookies?”

“Can we lay together and see a movie?” she asked, standing up to stretch. Her toes curled in the carpet. There was something intimate about bare feet; her feet were so small, so dainty looking. The arch of her foot would look sexy in a painting. I tried to picture it, how my mermaid would look with legs, a shoe dangling off her foot before I realized a moment had passed and she was waiting for an answer.

“Sure,” I said, cleaning up our dishes with a quick rinse in the sink. Merrow’s arms were around my middle, hugging me from behind. Her head rested against my back and her fingers dug into my stomach.

“Being here with you has been so wonderful,” she said, almost sadly. When I loosened her arms around me, to turn to her, those blue eyes looked even sadder.

“What’s wrong Merrow?”

“I’m only here for a little while, and then I’ll be leaving.”

“Leaving? Where are you going?” My voice nearly cracked, the food we just enjoyed together now like a solid brick sitting heavily in my stomach.

“It’s hard to explain,” she said, waving it off. “I’m not leaving yet.”

“I don’t want you to leave at all,” I said, knowing how childish and demanding that was.

“I’m not leaving today. Not unless you want me to.”

“No, stay.” I cupped her face, and it did nothing to ease the sadness there, but holding her felt like the right thing to do. “You wanted to watch a movie before making cookies?”

Finally her smile returned. “Yes, that sounds lovely.” She tugged me to the couch, and true to her word, she cuddled right into me. She made some non-committal noises about what to watch, so I picked an old rom-com that was playing on the local channels. She curled against me, and I grabbed a blanket from the end of the couch to wrap her in.

“Your toes are cold,” I said, pulling the blanket around us and bringing her feet into my lap. They were small and soft, and I rubbed the soles of her feet trying to warm them up.

“Owen, you are quite possibly too good for this world,” she said, sighing happily. She leaned back on the couch, reclining again, and her eyes looked heavy.

“Tired? You can nap for a bit if you want.” I rubbed her feet, her ankles, the lower parts of her calves. Her legs were soft as silk. The movie droned on, the sound just high enough to chase away the silence. Merrow looked so tired, and soon her eyes fluttered closed. The sketchbook and pencils she flipped through earlier were just within reach.

So I began to draw.

Merrow’s hair in a messy ball on top of her head. The shape of her jaw, so familiar to me from all the years that I’d drawn her mermaid doppelganger. Her face was so peaceful while she slept, and the littlest, tiniest snore escaped her lips. It took everything in me not to laugh. The snore grew louder, and her mouth hung open. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing harder and waking her.

In a few more minutes, I had the rough outline of her body completed. I focused on her knees, how they were drawn up again while she napped, her feet tucked under my thigh for extra warmth. I sketched her without the blanket covering her, imagining the rest of the lines of her body. I’d dreamt of her enough to know every curve, but only as a mermaid. As a woman, she was both familiar and strange, endearing and new.

Don’t fall in love with her, Owen. She said she’s leaving.

The ache in my chest was bone deep. I attacked the paper with my pencils, marking and smudging until I felt her stir next to me.

“Owen? Did I fall asleep? I’m so sorry–”

“You were tired, it’s okay. Did you know that you snore? It’s actually kinda cute–”

Merrow kicked my side and it banished the ache in my chest. She might be leaving, but she wasn’t yet. She was still here, and I wanted to make the most of these moments.

“Cookies?”

“Cookies!” she squealed, sitting up to plant a kiss on my cheek.

Don’t fall in love, don’t fall in love, I chanted to myself, over and over again. It might already be too late.