The kiss we shared hasn’t been mentioned. Maybe that’s why it seems to take up all the space between us.
But since he doesn’t bring it up, I don’t feel like I can, either.
“There are clothes in the wardrobe,” he tells me. “And everything you need is in the bathroom. I’ll be outside waiting for you.”
He leaves, giving me the room. I know he’s trying to offer me privacy, but I actually wish he’d made an excuse to stay.
Even the beauty of the room I’m in seems to fade a little in his absence.
I pick something pretty and simple from the wardrobe and run a brush through my hair before heading out to see him.
My heart is going a mile a minute.
I feel like that naïve eighteen-year-old again.
And God, it feels good.