When he opens his eyes, the room is still draped in shadows. The sun hasn't risen and even though it's more morning than night, it doesn't feel that way.
She's still sleeping and he should be, too. They probably only fell asleep a few hours before. Andy has things on his mind, though, and his thoughts refuse to let him rest.
Turning onto his side, he takes in the sight of the woman in his bed. This is the part that never gets old, the part he never wants to live without. He loves looking at her, watching her sleep.
He reaches out and touches her face gently with the backs of his fingers, just a light touch, not enough to wake her. Her skin is smooth and warm. Real.
He loves her.
He hasn't told her yet, even though they've been sleeping together for weeks and they've been dancing around each other for God only knows how long. He's sure that she already knows, but that's not the point and Andy knows that, too.
The truth is that he's just not sure how to tell her. How do you tell someone that they are your whole life, your reason for getting up in the morning and for moving forward with anything and everything in your life? How do you say all that . . . and not scare that person away?
Just the thought of not spending his life with Brenda terrifies him. He's already lost two loves and he's certain that he can't handle that again. He needs this to work, to be forever.
Her eyelids flutter, but she still doesn't wake and Andy knows that she's dreaming. He wonders if he inhabits her dreams the way that she does his.
He sighs, closing his eyes and willing himself back to sleep. Darkness and solitude only make him brood more, at least that's what Brenda says. He's starting to see her point.
"Hey, you okay?" he hears her ask. He opens his eyes and turns to see her watching him now, her elegant brows knitting together in concern. He wishes she'd stayed asleep now because he hates to make her worry.
"I'm fine," he replies.
"Yeah, right," she counters and then she's scooting closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder. "Tell me," she instructs. Sometimes he hates how well she knows him.
"I'm just . . . it's nothing, really," he edges. "You know how I get when I'm alone."
"You're not alone," she reminds him. She means it as a reassurance and he knows this, even before her fingers link through his across his chest.
They stay quiet for a while, listening to one another breathe and drawing comfort from being together. Brenda is the one to finally break the silence.
"I'm not going anywhere, Andy."
"I know," he says and he wants that to be true.
"You should," she says resolutely.
"Have dinner with me tonight," he says and Brenda knows that it's a request, one that she will, of course, accept.
"Where?" she asks.
"Here," he answers. "I'll cook."
"Spaghetti," she says and he laughs. She has a thing for his spaghetti.
"Anything you want," he concedes. He thinks to himself, 'I'll give you everything you want.'
He doesn't know that he already has.
