the bathtub, his lips never leaving mine, and when I could move no further I took two steps back into the warm water. He broke away as I lowered myself into the water. Patrick kissed me briefly on the forehead then turned and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Where the hell is he going?
Once it was clear he wasn’t returning anytime soon, I reached up to the shower caddy above my head and grabbed a ponytail holder. I tied my hair up and began to bathe. My body ached after such a long day, but even more so it ached for Patrick. I was about to call out for him when he entered the bathroom, carrying a mug. He grabbed a towel from the rack above the toilet and dropped it on the floor to cushion his knees as he knelt at the side of the bathtub. When he was lower I saw that the mug contained steaming tea.
He knows me so well.
It felt like we’d been this way forever. How could I have doubted giving myself to him? How could I have thought this man, kneeling before me with a boyish smile and cup of my favorite tea, would ever be anything but good for me? I reached up and rubbed the side of his face, running one finger along his dimpled cheek. A trace of water was left on his face once I removed my hand to take the mug from him and place it on the bathroom floor. He looked briefly confused, but then understanding dawned as I reached out with both hands on either side of his face and pulled him closer for a kiss.
I turned my body so that I was kneeling in the bathtub as I greedily pulled Patrick towards me. The water moved in unexpected waves and some landed on the floor and on Patrick. If he noticed, he didn’t care. We were both on our knees, me inside the tub and Patrick out. As we kissed I reached to pull his shirt up over his head.
His body was solid, warm, and wet as I kissed across his chest, his hands gripping my hair. Something had to give because it was as if we couldn’t get to each other fast enough. We couldn’t get close enough. Kissing and standing, he helped me step out of the bathtub, dripping warm sudsy water all over him and the floor. I shivered again as my body left the water and Patrick lifted me into his arms. Carrying me down the hall towards the bedrooms he never hesitated as he pushed open his room’s door with his foot, entered, and then closed it the same way.
The sun had begun to set, but still provided a soft light throughout his room. He laid me on his bed and quickly drew the curtains closed. The room darkened considerably but was still lit enough that I could see the look in Patrick’s eyes as he lowered himself on top of me. As we kissed I raised my body off the bed slightly, trying to be as close to him as possible. I began to run my hands up and down his back and wrapped my legs around him. His hands roamed up the sides of my legs, which only made me tighten my grip. He kissed down my neck and raised himself slightly to lower his pants. When they were off, he reached over towards his nightstand and I didn’t have to look to know he was getting a condom.
When we broke our kiss to look at one another, really look at each other, nothing needed to be said. Any fear that I’d had that going to this next level wouldn’t mean anything to Patrick was erased. As he looked at me I felt beautiful and cared for, and I knew that what was about to happen was more than sex—that what we’d begun to share over the past few months had been about more than living together and sharing space. I wanted nothing more than to share as much of myself as I could give with this man. He lowered himself and, as he entered me, he said the first words either of us had spoken since coming home.
He said my name.
Chapter Six
The Two Thanksgivings, Part I
Patrick
“Patrick, I think we made a mistake.”
“Chloe, go to sleep.”
“How can you be so calm?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You drive me crazy.”
“That feeling is