Page 111 of The Storm

My man.

My baby sleeps in a cocoon of blankets.

My darling burrows deeper under the covers while I slide my fingertips over the soft, messy strands of his chestnut hair.

My love opens his eyes and sends me a sleepy smile.

My man wraps me in his arms and loves me right back.

He adores me.

He wants me.

He can’t get enough of me.

Rolling myself out of bed is a challenge. I want to stay. Already, I yearn for him. I’ve hit the snooze button on my alarm three times.

He grabs my hand and groans.

“Don’t go. I need you here.”

My heart soars, and I laugh.

Happy.

Ridiculously happy.

Endlessly happy.

I let him pull me back. I topple on top of my love, and he catches me because he always does.

“I have to. I’m so late.”

I kiss him, and he wraps himself around me.

“Screw that. Let me love you instead.” He throws the covers over us, trapping us both in this little shared world of ours where nobody else is welcome.

I comb my fingers through his messy hair and kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you.”

His smile is luminous. Breathtaking. Lovely. Perfect. “I’ll drive you.”

“Mom already said she would. But pick me up after?”

I get out of bed.

I’m happy.

Nauseatingly, disgustingly happy.

We’ll make people roll their eyes at us with our happiness.

I’m late already, so I rush and run. I get dressed, toothbrush hanging from my mouth. I hop around on one foot while I try to pull up my shorts, and my baby, my darling, my love, my man laughs, brilliant and perfect.

He gets out of bed and straightens the hem of my shirt.

I throw my stuff into my backpack. Phone. Kiss. Wallet. Kiss. Keys. Kiss.

We laugh. We laugh so much, my lips are fixed into a permanent grin.