His smile touches his eyes, but there’s a sadness there, too, that I don’t want to see, even though it comforts me to know that I’m not alone in this.
“God, no—I—in a different world, I don’t think I’d ever get bored with you,” I breathe out as he pulls me even closer. “And my dog agrees.”
“I’m going to miss her. I’m going to missyou.”
He kisses me, long and thoroughly. The kind of kiss I’ll compare all other kisses to until the day I die, I fear. I love the way his lips are so soft even when his body is so hard against me. I love how warm they feel against my mouth and the smell of him when I’m fused to him like this, so close that I almost feel like we’re one.
We don’t end the kiss when a breeze tousles my hair or when a horn honks down the street from us, or even when a dog barks at us as its owner takes it for a walk on the opposite side of the street.
None of that exists for us.
It’s just him and me and a kiss that I don’t want to end.
Yet it does.
“Oh, I nearly forgot!” I gasp after our lips part, and I pull at the envelope sticking out from my back pocket.
“What’s that?” he looks down at the envelope where I’ve written the words“Open after retirement.”
“It’s nothing.” I make light of it. “It’s just some paperwork I filled out for you, and some information that will make opening that nonprofit easier. I mean, the forms will probably change by the time you retire, but it won’t be that different.” I shrug, trying not to make a big deal of the contents of the envelope. Because even though I’d love for him to read it all right now, it wouldn’t be right.
I have to keep him safe. I have to keep him focused on whatever lies ahead of him. That’s what he said he needs. And he honored what I saidIneeded. So I owe him the same.
“But don’t lose it. Because it—it really might help down the road. Just—you know, stash it somewhere safe until then. I hope it’ll get you started on retirement the right way.”
He looks down at it, and I almost think his eyes have gone misty. Not much. Just a touch. But then I realize it’s probably just the haze of my own unshed tears causing the illusion.
“That’s got to be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” he tells me.
My lips curve upward slightly. “Well, I think you need to hang out with nicer people then. Because you deserve… so much, Dax.” I kiss him, one last time. A light kiss this time. But still, I make it count.
“Just don’t lose that envelope,” I tell him as I force myself to step away. Because that envelope, he doesn’t realize, is the only reason that I’m not completely falling apart right now.
That envelope gives me hope.