Chapter 10

The silence continuesthroughout the evening.

I make an effort to act natural. I ask him if he wants some eggs to go with the ham Greta gave us and then reach into the root cellar to grab a jar of canned sliced potatoes so I can dry them off and fry them up with our meal.

Dinner turns out delicious. I haven't had fried potatoes of any kind since Impact, and the taste and texture evoke an aching nostalgia that clashes with the simmering resentment in my chest. Jimmy eats everything without conversation and without even his normal sounds of appreciation. He does mumble thanks when he's cleaned his plate, but it's not the same.

While I'm still stewing with anger and hurt, I'm prepared to cram the feelings into a corner of my mind and pretend everything is normal. Jimmy, however, refuses to be his usual self. He stares at me a lot but not in a normal way. I'm used to him peering in scrutiny or gazing with hot hunger or looking with a kind of amused bafflement.

This is different. This is bleak and exhausted, and nothing I say or do can change it.

It actually makes me feel guilty. Which pisses me off even more.

He's the one overreacting. He's the one being completely unreasonable. He's the one who refuses to budge or compromise even a little. He's the one who used a rough command to end our argument as if I'm his subordinate rather than his partner.

Maybe he assumes I am.

Maybe it's me who's wrong.

None of these circular thoughts provide me resolution or peace. I'm spinning desperately all evening, searching for any sign of softening from him and finding exactly none.

All in all, it's not a good evening. I read on the couch after dinner while Jimmy cleans his guns and sharpens his knives. When he stands up and rubs his hands through his hair, I know he's ready for bed.

I close my book and head to the outhouse while Jimmy stands in the doorway with his shotgun.

While he goes to the bathroom and locks up, I get ready for bed and climb in to wait for him.

He usually gets softer after sex. Maybe we can talk again then. Maybe he'll actually listen to me.

I'm hopeful as he comes into the room to undress and wash up. When he finally lies down, I move over him like normal, angling low on his body so I can give him a blow job.

He grabs for my shoulders and holds me still. "What the hell, Chloe?"

I freeze, bewildered and hurt yet again. "I was going to?—"

"You've got to be kidding!" He stares like I've grown a second head. "No fucking way."

I retreat immediately, shaking as the rejection slices through my chest, the pain flooding the rest of my body. "Oh. I thought…"

I don't finish the sentence. I can't.

It doesn't matter what I thought.

He doesn't want me to touch him tonight. He's utterly horrified at the idea.

He must be so angry with me.

I barely manage to choke back a sob as I curl up tightly on my side, facing the wall.

He turns off the lantern, so the room goes dark. It feels like he's got his head turned in my direction, still watching me.

I don't like it. He needs to stop.

If he doesn't want to have sex, he should close his eyes and go to sleep so I can get a little privacy.

So I can cry.

Mentally reviewing what's happened today, I dissect every word I said to Jimmy.

I still don't think I did anything that bad. I did raise my voice a little, but I never yelled or screamed. I didn't burst into tears or throw a fit or act like a child. I tried to understand his perspective and express my own. Yes, I got frustrated, but I'm not sure how anyone in my position could avoid that.

Jimmy, however, took my behavior as some sort of rebellion. Like I was undermining his authority.

He doesn't want me to assert myself in any way. He doesn't want me to have a backbone. Disagree with him. Be even a little bit stronger.

He wants me more like I was at the very beginning—scared and anxious and eager to please, trying desperately to predict what he wants and give it to him perfectly.

Our relationship is transactional after all. I knew it from the beginning and have been reminded of it time after time.

He takes care of me, and I make him happy.

He's not happy right now.

I must have gotten too comfortable. I must have felt too safe and secure. Not only regarding outside threats but regarding my place here in his house.

It might feel like my home now, but it's not. Not really. Not as much as it's Jimmy's. He can kick me out whenever he wants and leave me to fend for myself in a hostile world.

He's the one providing me a roof over my head and food on my plate and any degree of security.

I have to keep him satisfied in every way. I don't have any other real choice.

Grandpa taught me well to never bite the hand that feeds you, to never put yourself at risk for nothing more than pounding on an impervious wall.

You have to do what must be done to survive. That's always been true, and it's truer now than ever.

I can do it.

I made a mistake, but I can fix it.

I can make Jimmy happy again.

I have to. Otherwise I'll lose everything I've worked so hard to get.

* * *

The next morning, I'm resolved to do better. To be better.

I sit up as soon as Jimmy's feet hit the floor at dawn, smoothing down my messy hair and smiling at him. "Good morning."

"Mornin'." He's sitting on the edge of the bed. His boxers have slid so low I can see the top of his butt crack. His hair was slightly damp from the water he splashed on his face when he went to sleep last night, so it's sticking up in chaotic kinks today.

He's still a little tense, eyeing me warily as I crawl over and stand up. I'm still naked since I never put my gown on last night. His eyes dip down in an instinctive once-over before focusing back on my face.

I raise a hand to my cheek when I realize he's looking at the bruise. It's not throbbing this morning, so I almost forgot about it. The skin is tender when I push on it.

I hate it. It reminds Jimmy of how helpless I am.

He's still sitting on the bed when I go to the dresser to grab my panties. I smile at him again as I step into them and pull them up my legs.

"You feel okay?" he asks.

"Yeah. I'm fine. How about you?"

"I'm okay." He won't stop peering at me, and it's getting on my nerves. But I've resolved today to do better, so I'm not going to express any sort of impatience or annoyance.

I find a T-shirt and pull it on before I wash my face and brush my teeth.

He's unnerving me by still sitting there staring, but I ignore it as I dry my face with my towel.

"You're not still mad at me?" he finally asks.

I pause in the middle of fitting myself into my jeans. I'm eating so much more now that I've gained a little weight. My jeans are tighter than they used to be. "Of course I'm not mad."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Are you still mad?"

"I wasn't—" He cuts off the protestation he couldn't possibly think I'd believe. "I'm not mad."

"Okay, good." Upset and confusion is still shuddering in a tight ball inside me, but I refuse to cater to those feelings. I manage another sweet smile. "I'm sorry I was moody and stubborn yesterday."

His eyebrows pull together. "I'm sorry I sounded mean and hurt your feelings. You wanna talk about it some more?"

I do want to talk about it. Everything inside me wants to explode with it. Get the whole thing out. But I know for sure that if I start that conversation again, I'll begin arguing to get my point across. I'll get upset when he doesn't listen. It will turn into the same mess as yesterday.

And that's what I need to avoid.

"Nah, it's fine." I grab my sweatshirt because it's chilly in the room. Since the nights have been milder lately, Jimmy hasn't kept the fire in the woodstove roaring all night. "I'm good. Unless there's more you want to say?"

He holds my eyes but evidently doesn't find whatever he's looking for there. He jerks his head to the side, frowning at the wall.

"Okay," I say, managing one more smile. "It's cold in here, so I'm going to get the fire going. I'll wait until you're up and ready before I go to the bathroom."

The escape to the kitchen is a relief. I add a piece of wood and stoke a fire in the stove. Jimmy shows up, dressed now, after a few minutes, and he waits in the doorway as I use the outhouse.

He does his chores. I make fried eggs with some leftover ham for breakfast. We discuss our plan for the day as we eat. I'll go with Jimmy to his parents' today, and he'll stay home tomorrow so I can finally do the laundry that's piling up.

It still feels wrong to me. I'm still sure it's an overreaction on Jimmy's part to a random, unpredictable incident. It makes absolutely no sense if I have any hope of my fulfilling all my responsibilities here.

But he made it clear. This is his decision.

And I have to go along with it.

Maybe I'll get used to it. Maybe it won't always bug me the way it does right now.

I wash the dishes and wipe the sink and counter. Then I pack one of my loaves of bread to take with us. I have extra from last week because we've spent so much time at the Carlsons', and it will get stale before we have the chance to eat it.

I'm ready when Jimmy is, and we make the trek to his parents' farm.

With effort, I find light, easy topics of conversation for the walk. He's kind of stiff, but he responds when conversation requires it, so at least it's better than yesterday.

Today is Greta's baking day, so I help her and Paula in the kitchen.

Laura is working outside with the men. I'm not sure what exactly she's doing, but she's obviously stronger and more competent than me. She's able to help in ways I'm not.

Jimmy might have been happier if he'd chosen her.

It's the first time since I moved in with him that I've felt insecure about Laura. It nags at me. Pesters me for hours, even when I try not to indulge it.

Jimmy hasn't had a bad time since we've been together. He's acted perfectly content with me up until Sunday. There's no reason to assume he'd prefer another woman. He simply didn't like my attitude yesterday, and that's something I can fix.

I usually like baking, but the morning still drags on forever. At one point, Greta gives me an encouraging talk about how, despite the trauma of the attack, I'll eventually learn to stay by myself again.

It's like someone is clawing away my skin. Her assumption is that I'm the problem, I'm the one too scared to stay at home on my own. Yesterday I attempted to set her straight, but it obviously didn't stick.

I don't even try today. It might annoy Jimmy, and I'm determined not to do that again.

So I swallow it all down.

Life isn't always fair. In fact, it almost never is. Righteous vindication rarely happens, and it's not the most important thing anyway.

I need to survive. I need a safe space in the world. Jimmy is my only decent option for that, so his happiness has to be my priority.

I've had four really good months with him. There's no reason I can't have that again. All I need to do is get over this one hurdle.

Today they finish up the work in the fields by midafternoon. Greta wants us to stay for dinner, but Jimmy says we've got work to do at home.

I do anyway.

Today is the day of the week I always clean the outhouse, so I should have time to do that when we get back. That way I won't get even further behind on my chores.

When we get home, Jimmy is so incredibly filthy that I ask if he wants to take a bath.

He appears surprised by the offer, but he can't deny the fact of his dirtiness. He agrees, dragging in the tub so I can start filling it up while he goes outside to check on the chickens and pigs. They haven't been happy with our long absence for the past couple of days.

I get my bucket, cleaner, and scrub brush together and go clean the outhouse while Jimmy takes a bath.

He's done, stretched out on the couch wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, when I return after giving the outhouse a relatively quick clean.

Jimmy's eyes are closed. He's exhausted.

The work he's doing with his dad is a lot more intense than most of the work he does around here.

My heart clenches just a little as I look down at him. The last thing he needs is to deal with me being obstinate. I need to support him better.

No wonder he hasn't been happy these past few days.

"Y'okay?" he mumbles without even opening his eyes. He must somehow have sensed me standing here, looking down at him.

"Yeah. You want me to get you some clothes?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure. Thanks."

He's still sprawled on the couch when I return, but his eyes are open so he can see what I'm doing. Most of his clothes are dirty since laundry was delayed, but I found his old gray sweats that have only been worn inside and an ancient T-shirt with a football logo on it and a tear in the seam of one sleeve.

"You sure you're okay?" he asks, softer and thicker than before. He's trying to see into my soul again. He just won't stop.

"I'm good." I smile down at him, suddenly getting inspired. I reach for his towel and gently unwind it, pulling the fabric away from his pelvis.

He's not aroused when I open the towel, but by the time I kneel beside the couch and reach for his cock, he's starting to harden.

"Whatcha doin'?" He shifts slightly on the couch.

"What do you think?" I stroke and squeeze until he's hard in my hands. Then I lower my head so I can slide my lips down the tip of him.

He groans long and low and rolls his hips. "Chloe, baby. You sure? You really want—?" He breaks off the question when I suck hard.

His cock is filling my mouth. His muscles are all tensing up as I hollow out my cheeks and rhythmically bob my head. He takes my head in both hands and holds it in place, easing it up and down as I work.

I'm pleased and excited and deeply relieved as his body responds the way it always has. He's starting to thrust now, involuntary shallow bucks as he loses control.

He gets so into it. He's moaning and grunting uninhibitedly, getting louder and louder as he mounts toward climax. I'm making him feel so good, and it's a deep source of satisfaction.

When he finally reaches the peak, he cries out hoarsely and clenches his fingers in my hair. His cock shudders as he releases. Instead of sliding him out of my mouth, I let him come in my mouth, focusing hard so I can swallow his semen without choking on it.

I do a pretty good job. He's breathing raggedly as he falls back limply on the couch. He hasn't let go of my head yet. His fingertips are stroking my scalp.

"So good," he's murmuring. "You're so good. You make me feel so good."

The encouragement wafts over me in a hot wave of pleasure.

He's holding my ponytail loosely as I straighten up, flushed and kind of fluttery.

"Thank you," he says hoarsely, sliding his hand forward to cup my jaw. "Thank you for doing that for me."

"You're welcome. I enjoy doing it." Thrilled that things are getting back on track between us, I stand up, steadying my trembly knees. When I've stabilized myself, I step away from the couch and toward the kitchen. I need to start working on dinner.

"Hey," Jimmy says with a frown in his voice. "Where you goin'?"

"It's getting toward dinnertime. Is something wrong?"

"Yes, somethin' is wrong. You're not gonna let me do you too?"

My eyes widen dramatically, and my face flushes more hotly. "Oh. I didn't realize?—"

"You thought I wouldn't wanna take care of you too?"

"No, no! Not like that. You just don't have to do anything for me right now. I mean, I'm fine. I just wanted to do it for you."

He's sitting up, pulling on the sweats and shirt I brought in earlier for him. He's breathing fast and raspy and glowering up at me. "So you're not even gonna give me the chance?"

I've somehow messed things up again. I have no idea why and how I keep doing so. He was so soft and relaxed just a minute ago, but now he's really upset again.

"I'm sorry. It's not that I didn't want to give you the chance. I just didn't realize… I mean, I wanted to… You're tired. It's been a long day for you. You really don't have to go through the trouble."

"You still think I'm a selfish asshole who just wants to take from you," he says in almost a whisper. "Don't you?"

"No! Of course I don't think that! I never thought that."

"Then why're you acting like I'll have to suffer through doin' somethin' for you instead of wantin' to do it?"

I don't have an answer for him. My head is spinning, and my knees and hands are openly trembling, and I'm so confused and overwhelmed I can't get a single word out.

He adjusts his position, scooting forward to the edge of the couch seat and leaning toward me. "Tell me the truth, Chloe. Promise me you'll tell me the truth."

I nod urgently since my throat is still closed up.

"Have you been fakin' it with me? Have I not been doin' a good job pleasin' you in bed?"

"No!" I'm so shocked by the question that the answer bursts out of me. "No!"

Some of the tension eases on his expression, but not all of it. "So you've been comin' for real?"

"Yes! I've always come for real. You've always treated me really good in bed."

"Is there some other reason you don't like it when I make you come?" He doesn't look so hurt anymore. It's closer to that intense, peering scrutiny.

"I do like it! I've always liked it."

"Then what the hell is the problem?" he demands in a more confident tone. "Why're you always tryin' to blow me and run?"

"I'm not trying to run." I rub my face since my brain still isn't working at full capacity and I need it to right now. "I just want to make sure you know how much I… I appreciate you. I like making you feel good."

The room is silent for a long tense moment. Then, "And it's never occurred to you that I might feel the exact same way?"

I freeze. Utterly motionless. Because the truth is obvious to me and probably to him.

It's never once occurred to me that he might feel the same way about me. That he might appreciate everything I do for him—the life we're living together—and want to go out of his way to express that to me. Want to make me feel good without expecting anything in return.

I know exactly how it feels when I want to please him and he won't let me. When he rejects me.

Obliviously I've been doing that to him.

"I'm sorry," I finally whisper. "I'm so sorry, Jimmy. I didn't… I didn't realize you… you felt that way."

"Well, I do."

"Okay. I'm really sorry. You work really hard to take care of us and help your family and the rest of the community. I see how hard you always work. I just never wanted to give you extra work to do."

To my surprise, his expression changes, and he huffs out a soft laugh.

I giggle too—more in response to his mood change than anything else. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah. I do." He smooths down his beard and leans back against the couch. "I know exactly what you mean. All this time you've thought you were a burden."

"No, it's not that! It's more like—" He doesn't interrupt me this time. I stop myself.

"It's more like you thought you were a burden on me so you needed to make up for it instead of realizin' you make my life way, way better."

I didn't expect that kind of declaration in the middle of this weird, awkward, intense conversation. I gasp. "Really?"

"Yes, really. You turned everythin' around for me, Chloe. I honestly never thought my life could be this good again."

I'm swaying slightly, rocked by waves of feeling. Which is why my vocabulary has narrowed down to only one word. "Really?"

He shakes with throaty laughter. "Yes, really."

I hug myself. "Okay. Me too."

He narrows his eyes. "You're not just sayin' that 'cause you know I wanna hear it?"

"No. It's true. My life is so much better because of you."

He smiles. Not broadly but for real. Then he slouches down slightly on the couch. "All right then. So now will you let me take care of you too?"

I don't respond immediately as my mind catches up.

"You're seriously gonna reject me again?"

"No! No, I'm not." I move closer, not quite sure how he wants me to proceed.

"Good. So get naked and climb up here on my lap."

I start to comply automatically, reaching for the bottom of my shirt to pull it off over my head. But I stop with it halfway up. "You want me to wash up first?"

"No, I don't. Stop stalling, girlie, and take off your clothes."

I'm bubbling with laughter as I pull my shirt off and then shimmy out of my jeans. My panties come with them, so I'm naked pretty quick. I move toward him, thinking he wants me to straddle him. But he pulls me on his lap so I'm leaning against him, sitting sideways with my legs stretched out on the middle couch cushion.

I feel unstable, held in position mostly by his arms and his body rather than mine.

He nuzzles the side of my face, his beard lightly scratching my skin. Then he stares down at me for a minute. Lowers his mouth to press his lips against mine in a very light kiss.

It's featherlight and barely lasts two seconds, but it evokes the most intense shiver of pleasure down my spine, all the way to my pussy.

He pulls back, still watching my expression for a minute. When I don't react, he nuzzles me again, adjusting his arm so I'm lying back a little farther. Then he bends his neck enough to suck on the fluttering pulse in my neck.

As he mouths me, his free hand moves to fondle my breasts. It can't be a comfortable position for him, but he's managing it. His touches are really working for me right now. Arousal clenches and builds as he continues until I'm panting unevenly and squirming in his lap.

I'm so desperate I breathe out, "Please."

He moves a hand between my legs and teases until he finally slides one finger and then two inside me.

My pussy clings eagerly to the penetration. I let out a soft moan when he starts to thrust.

He fucks me with his hand until I reach a quick, hard climax, clutching his shirt and rocking and writhing in his lap, my helplessness somehow intensifying the sensations.

Warm satiation washes over me, and his hand slows as I come down. I curl up into a more secure position—still held on his lap with his arms—and mumble, "That was so good. Thank you."

"You're welcome. But why would you think it was over?"

"What? Because I… I came."

He uncurls me until I'm sprawled out shamelessly on his lap. He starts stroking my body again.

Despite the release I just had, I can't help but moan again at the way he's caressing my breasts and belly and thighs. My face and neck. Back down to my breasts. He rolls one of my nipples between his thumb and fingers, and my pelvis rocks involuntarily.

"See?" he murmurs thickly. "You're not done yet. Your body knows what it needs."

"Jimmy." His name comes out as a little whimper.

"You're likin' this, aren't you?"

"Yeah." I arch my back up into the hand he's still using to tease my nipple. "Feels so good but driving me crazy at the same time."

He chuckles and slides his fingers down to part my folds and rub my clit. "That's how I always am with you."

I like the sound of the words even though I'm too far gone to work out exactly what they mean. I grind myself against his finger, but too soon he moves it, stroking his fingertips back up to my breasts. He fondles one and then the other until I can't stop whimpering. I lift one arm to hook around his neck, needing desperately to hold on.

"You're doin' just fine, baby. Just let me do this for you."

I turn my head until my face is buried in his shirt. The fabric muffles a few loud sobs as the delicious torment intensifies.

"That's right. You can take it. You can let me do this for you. You're gonna like it so much."

I mumble out "uh-huh" sounds against his shirt, doing my best not to writhe.

He finally moves his hand back down between my legs. He penetrates me with two fingers again. I'm as wet as I can remember ever being, and my inner muscles immediately clench possessively around his fingers.

"I can feel how much you need this. Your little pussy is grabbin' on to me so hard."

I arch my neck back and release a long, loud groan.

He must like how I'm responding. His body is tensing up. "That's right. Let it out. You can be as loud as you need to be. Don't hold nothin' back."

I moan again and roll my hips since he's holding his fingers perfectly still. "Jimmy. I need… I need…"

"I know what you need. I'm gonna give it to you. You're still tryin' to fight it. Let me give it to you."

It takes more control than I believed I possess, but I'm able to soften my body, fully relax, and grow still. It still feels like everything is shuddering inside, but the enforced letdown somehow makes it more powerful.

"That's good. That's perfect. Now you're ready for more."

"Jimmy, please."

He finally starts thrusting his hand, starting slow and steady. I make myself keep my hips still so I don't rush the momentum of the sensations. He's still murmuring about how good I'm doing, how well I'm taking it, letting him give it to me. And the encouragement is like water in a drought.

Eventually he picks up his speed, hand fucking me harder and faster. It makes a wet, sloppy noise and jiggles my entire body. It feels better than anything ever has.

I'm making more of those embarrassing sounds, but there's no way to hold them back now. I twist my neck so I can hide my face in his shirt again, but he doesn't let me this time. He tells me to lie back again. Not to hide from him.

So I let him work me to the very edge of orgasm, and then I cry out loudly when I finally fall over the edge.

It's the hardest I ever remember coming. My body jerks and shakes as my pussy clamps down forcefully around his fingers in spasm after spasm.

He keeps talking me through it, sustaining the climax with both his hand and his voice, until at last there's nothing left.

I fall back in a limp collapse, everything inside me emptied out in the intensity of the release. My body keeps twitching. Jimmy keeps stroking my pussy gently.

"See?" he murmurs at last, gathering me up until he's cradling me in a tighter embrace. "That's what I've been wantin' to do for you. You gotta trust me enough to let me give you what you need."

Something strange happens then. The physical release on top of the new revelation about how Jimmy sees me mingles with all my stress and upset from the past two days that still hasn't been resolved or forgotten. All of it tightens into a hard swell of feeling that suddenly erupts into loud, helpless sobbing.

Actual sobbing. I burst into tears.

He makes a hoarse sound and pulls me closer, letting me cry frantically into his shirt.

I have no idea where it's all even coming from, but I can't seem to stop.

After a few minutes, he starts to murmur, "It's okay. I've got you. You can let go. Let it all out. I'm right here. I've got you."

It's exactly what I need to hear, and it makes me cry even more. This isn't like me at all. I've totally fallen apart.

It takes a long time, but I eventually work through the worst of the tears. I'm still clinging to him, completely naked and still whimpering and sniffing. He's still holding me tight. I can't stand the thought of him letting go.

When I've finally fallen still and silent other than a few last snuffles, he strokes my back. Moves his hand up to cup the back of my head. "Seems like you needed that pretty bad."

"I… I don't know why."

"'Cause you've been upset and kept pretendin' you weren't."

"I—"

"Don't try to argue with me about that. I'm not totally clueless, you know."

I lie against him, exhausted. Boneless. "I didn't want you to get mad at me again."

"I wasn't mad at you, Chloe. I was mad at the situation."

"It seemed like you were mad at me. Like you didn't want to hear what I was trying to say. Like you just wanted me to shut up and let you make all the decisions."

I'm not sure where I get the courage to admit that so bluntly. It's such a huge risk.

He breathes thickly a few times. "I did hear you."

"But you?—"

"I know what I did. I'm real sorry about that. I was… I'm scared shitless, baby. I keep tryin' to move past it, but it keeps comin' back to me. How it felt when I heard you screamin' and came runnin' only to see that… that monster on top of you. I thought… I was sure I'd… lost you."

He's opening up in a real way. A way he almost never does. I straighten up and pull back enough to see his face. "I understand. I get why that's hard to get over."

"But see, I know I'm makin' it about me when you're the one who was…" His face twists painfully. "I know it's my problem. But I'm still not sure I got it in me to leave you by yourself and vulnerable again."

I nod, feeling better than I have since Sunday morning. "I really do understand."

"But I'm gonna work on it. I think I can get there. I heard you about treatin' you like a child. I'm not gonna do that. I know if I expect you to trust me, I got to work on trusting you too."

Blowing out a long exhale, I brush away a few new tears. "I'm going to keep practicing with the gun. I'll practice real hard. I can get better. I'm sure I can."

"I know you can." He strokes down my ponytail very lightly. "I can help you. And I'll keep working on my own issues. It might take a little time, but I'm sure I can get there. I know it's ludicrous to think we can make this work if I'm never able to leave you alone. You were right about all that. I was wrong. I was stubborn and stupidly possessive and irrational and just plain wrong. Not sure I can do it right away, but I'm gonna work on getting to the point where I can."

I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him, rubbing my cheek against his shoulder. "Thank you."

"Might not happen this week," he murmurs, an edge of dry humor in his tone.

I giggle. "That's okay. I can live with that."

He wraps his arms around me, and we stay in the needy embrace for a few more minutes.

Then I'm finally able to get up, get dressed, and get on with my life, starting with fixing dinner.

But I feel better. Entirely better.

Like a new world has opened up for me. One that might keep getting better.

What we have might always be more practical than anything else. A transactional agreement. But maybe we can learn to trust each other.

And maybe he genuinely values me—a lot more than I realized before.