Page 92 of Goode Vibrations
I left her lying in the bed and returned to clean her, marveling at the privilege she’d given me, the trust she’d shown me. When she was clean, she pulled me down to the bed once more and nestled in my arms.
“Errol?”
“Hmmm?”
“What will our life look like? My family is here, but your career is out there.”
“Our life is what we make it.” I touched her chin, held her eyes. “What do you want our life to look like?”
She hesitated.
“Tell me,” I insisted. “Whatever it is, tell me.”
“I want to go where you go. And when we’re not out there, we’re here.” She closed her eyes. Shivered. “I want our home to be here. Together. I want to watch you play the fiddle with Canaan and Aerie and Myles and Lexie and Corin and Tate. I want to develop photos in our own darkroom. I want a studio where I can paint all day, wearing nothing but one of your shirts. I want…I want to sit in airports with you. Join the mile-high club with you.” She smirked up at me. “Unless you’ve already done that.”
“Nope,” was my only reply.
“Good. That’s ours together, too, then.” She paused to think. “I want to see the world with you. Take photos of everything. I want to go to Machu Picchu with you, and Paris, and Tahiti, and…god, everywhere. And I want us to come home here.” A laugh. “Well, notherehere. Ketchikan, here.”
“I’ve never had a home,” I whispered, the word tasting unfamiliar on my tongue. “New Zealand hasn’t been home since I was twelve, since Mum passed. I’ve been itinerant, since.”
She gazed up at me, rolled so she was on top, rested her breasts on my belly and propped her arms on my chest, chin on her hands. “I can be your home.”
“You already are.”
“Can I scare you a little?”
I smiled. “You can try.”
“Someday, when we’re ready, I want to be Mrs. Poppy Sylvain.” Serious dark eyes, only a hint of a smile, watching my reaction carefully. “Is that crazy?”
“Not crazy, or scary. Or, actually, what’s crazy and scary is hownoteither one it really is.” I brushed hair away from the corner of her mouth. Cupped a breast because I could. “My turn to try and scare you.”
“You can try,” she said, grinning as she echoed my own words.
“After I’ve made you Mrs. Poppy Sylvain, someday, eventually, when we’re ready, I want to make you a mother. I want to…” I choked back emotion. “I want to be a father who’sthere. I’ve thought about it a lot, actually. How, if I ever was to fall in love, if there was ever a woman who could love me enough to get me to settle in one place, I’d want to have a baby, just so I can be there for him or her. All the time. Every day. I’d read stories, and change diapers and…and make bottles, and show them how to ride a bike and catch a fish…”
“You’ll be there.” She touched my jaw. “I thought you were going to scare me, Errol. All you’ve done is make me love you all the more.”
“Doesthisscare you?” I asked, pushing my renewed desire against her soft center.
“Only in how much I want it again,” was her answer.
“Are we crazy to be talking about getting married and having babies already?”
She unwrapped protection and covered me with it. We lay on our sides, merged lazily and slowly, facing each other, noses brushing like butterfly kisses. “My mom told me that love is not dependent on time, it’s just our hearts recognizing the other person as belonging to us.”
“My heart recognizes yours,” I whispered.
“We belong together, so nothing that feels right to us is crazy, regardless of the amount of time we’ve known each other.”
“I’ve never belonged to or with anyone,” I said.
“Me either.” She pulled me on top of her and drew me down for a kiss. “Now we do. You’re mine, Errol. And I’m not letting go.”
“Yours,” I whispered.
“Mine,” she breathed.
“Ours,” we murmured, together.