Page 55 of The Facilitator: Part 2
“I think that would be a good idea, other than the time difference. If she called from the UK, she won’t be calling during our daytime, willshe?”
Mackenzie had slid under the duvet and was reading from a newspaper. He rarely read anything other than a select few biographies or work papers. I spent the next half an hour drying my hair and by the time I was done, the newspaper had slipped from the bed and Mackenzie’s eyes were closed. I gently climbed into the bed beside him; I wanted to adjust his pillows so he didn’t wake with a stiff neck. Instead, I just looked athim.
His dark hair flopped over his forehead and his enviable long eyelashes rested on the skin under his eyes. His chest rose and fell evenly. I looked at his hands, fingers that had given me such pleasure over the past few months. I wondered if he’d ever worn, or would wear, a wedding ring. I blinked back the thought. Marriage wasn’t a word either of us uttered, although divorce had been, of course. I didn’t think we were in a rush to potentially spoil what we had. It was clear, without words, we were committed to each other long term. We didn’t need a licence to provethat.
Mackenzie’s eyelids fluttered open as if he’d been aware I was studyinghim.
“I was going to adjust your pillows,” I said, quietly. He slid down the bed and reached out forme.
“Let me hold you,” hesaid.
I snuggled into him, feeling his warm skin against mine. He nuzzled into the side of myhead.
