“It’s unreal,” he says quietly, “that I love watching you get dressed as much as I love watching you get naked. I used to sit at the office when I was working late and think about how you were probably putting on your pajamas and I was missing it, and fucking hating myself. I never thought I’d get to watch you do it again.” His exhale brushes over my neck, right below where I’ve fashioned my hair into a loose bun. “Don’t think I’m taking this moment for granted, Georgia, or any moment you’ve given me this week.”
