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“Relax, Tara. Relax, love. I’ve got you. You can take me. You can take it.”
“Tara, I…” “Mmm?” I ask, already half-asleep. “I really like you. I don’t want to fake it. I want it to be real.” “Good,” I tell him, yawning. “It is real.”
“Yeah, you mountain oyster. I’m totally falling in love with you.”
He doesn’t answer, but when he pulls me even closer, tucking the blankets over my body, I don’t care that I’ve put it all on the line for him. I wanted him to know he’s worthy of love.
“You know, I feel like I should be more… worried about it. Marrying you, moving in, all that. But… it feels right.” What an inadequate way to say it.
“It feels right,” he agrees, and when he says it, it doesn’t feel inadequate at all.
“Well, I want to carry you farther than most husbands.” He plods along, and I settle into his arms. “I plan on being married to you for a very, very long time.”
“I thought this whole moving in thing was until I get back on my feet.” “Sure.” I side-eye him. “Why do you think I’m carrying you?” he asks slyly.
We fake date the rest of the month. Fake, because we’re very much not actually dating.
“I love you, too,” I tell him, grinning widely. “I know,” he says. “Agh!”
“What?” He shrugs, passing me another peanut butter cup. “You say it in your sleep.” “I do not.” I lob the candy at him, and he catches it neatly.
