My heart is fully invested—has been for a long time—and would be irrevocably damaged if he were to break it.
But then he looks at me with a glacier-melting smile and my worry bleeds away.
The question isn’t ifhe likes me back, I’m sure that he does. The question is what I’m going to do about it.
* * * *
I start by reciprocating his touches. All this time, he’s been the one to initiate them; I’ve held back because of the age difference. Sure, I’ve hugged him back, but never once taken the first step to physical contact.
When I get home from work the next morning, I show my gratitude for the hot chocolate, the burning tealights, and his sleepy, wonderful smile by hugging him.
It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing. He’s too darned irresistible with his hair in complete disarray, pillow marks on his cheeks, and sluggish movements that are more uncoordinated than usual.