Page 54 of The Maverick
"Scarcity mindset," he said.
"Is that what it's called?"
"That's what somebody called it once. A shrink the Army made me see. Smart woman."
I was quiet for a moment, turning that over.
"The Army," I said.
"Mm."
"That's the first real thing you've told me about yourself."
"Is it?"
"Your name, the Army, Valentine Texas. That's the whole inventory."
"I also told you I pack extra guitar strings."
"That's a character detail, not a biography."
He smiled. It came out into the dark above us, slow and private. "Fair."
"Will you tell me more?" I said. "Eventually?"
He turned his head again. Found my eyes in the low light.
"Yeah," he said. "Eventually."
It landed like a promise. I decided to hold it like one.
The last time was slow.
It was the deep end of the night and we were both tired in the good way—the hollowed-out, quieted way that came from hours of talking and touching and the warmth of being awake with someone when the rest of the world was asleep. He pulled me over him without urgency. His hands moved like he had all the time there was. Like there was nothing past this moment that needed tending to.
I sank down onto him and we both went still.
Just that, for a moment. Just the feeling of it. The closeness of it.
His hands moved to my hips, light.
We moved together, slowly. Not building toward anything. Just moving. Just the steady rhythm of two people who had found a thing that worked and saw no reason to rush it toward its end. His thumbs traced circles at my hip bones. My hands rested flat on his chest, feeling his heart under my palms, steady and real.
He watched my face the whole time. That focused, serious attention that had undone me in the restaurant, in the donutshop, in this room the first time. I had stopped trying to look away from it.
Outside, the first birds started.
Not dawn—not yet—just the earliest ones, the ones that got going while the dark was still deciding. A single note, then another, then something that almost resolved into a song and didn't quite.
I listened to them and I listened to his breathing and I felt the warmth of his hands and I thought:I don't know this man.
I thought:I want to.
I thought:That is the most frightening thing I have ever said to myself, and I am saying it, anyway, which maybe means I am braver than I knew.
The feeling built slowly, and when it came, it came without fanfare—just a long, quiet wave that moved through me and left everything clean in its wake. He held me through it. Then he followed, soft and deep and saying my name once, just once, the way you said a thing you meant.
We lay there, after.
