Page 77 of Befriending the Bear
“Sure, I can,” he said. “We live in a cottage with mismatched mugs, rain-soaked windows, and a bed that groans when we kiss too hard. What else do we need?”
Nothing. We needed nothing.
We made love in our creaky bed, with cushions under Fraser’s knee so he could stretch out on top of me like we both loved. In the shower afterward, we bravely attempted a second round, but neither of us could finish, so we called it a draw and laughed it off.
Later, we carried slices of Brianna’s wedding cake into the living room, curled onto the couch under a throw blanket, and read from a book of Mary Oliver poems we both had dog-eared before ever meeting.
Time stretched like molasses. The rain came again, soft and steady. Somewhere around midnight, I dozed off, curled against Fraser’s side, his heartbeat under my cheek like punctuation.
And I dreamed of a lifetime of ordinary days with this man. Of coffee in the morning, his flannel shirt against my cheek, the sound of his cane on the floor, our toothbrushes touching on the shelf.
I dreamed of a lifetime of them. Day by day.
