saymore
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Maybe it's her grief. Maybe it's the way she feels just that much closer to something frightening and cosmic right now. Or maybe that in-tune feeling, the one that used to jar her, is still there, untampered with despite time and distance.
It doesn't matter, whatever it is. The point is she feels it. Who knows how, or even really where, exactly, she's feeling it, but beneath this overwhelming persistent fear, something shifts when he steps into the church behind her.
Bookmarked by saymore
27 Apr 2025
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“What if I’m not suited for it?”
“You are,” he says it the same way he’d say gravity is the force that keeps us from floating away into space. Like it’s incontrovertible. Like it’s true.
“How do you know?” she asks. The question sounds so fucking childish.
“Because I know you.”
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Bookmarked by saymore
08 Dec 2024
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His eyes darkened, pupils going wide in the dim light, lips parting the slightest bit under her touch. She kept her hand there, fingertips lingering on his jaw. “Rebecca,” he said, his voice a low rumble she could feel as much as hear, “I sure do hope I’m not misreading things here.”
She was not brave, but she was reckless, and sometimes recklessness was a fine substitute for bravery. “It could be fun, right?” She put her hand over Beard’s on her thigh, laced their fingers together and looked over at him, the question on the table for both of them. “It wouldn’t have to change things.”
“Yes it would.” Beard turned his hand palm-up to wrap his fingers around hers. “Right, Coach?”
“Right, Coach.” Ted turned his head toward her hand and kissed her palm, his lips soft and warm, mustache tickling the sensitive skin. “It changes everything.” He kissed the pulse point at the inside of her wrist, eyes meeting hers as his lips skimmed over her skin. “But sometimes change is good, doncha think?”
Bookmarked by saymore
28 Sep 2024
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She could find someone, a more genuine date, she knows she could, but it'd be an unknown, a variable too out of her control. Something she's had a frighteningly tenuous grasp on lately as it is. She'd rather spend the money, have someone who knows what they're doing, and knows what she wants.
A professional.
Hence, the headshots on her laptop. Terrible fucking idea.
She huffs in frustration, in indignation, in indecision. She sets her wine down to slam the thing closed in righteous anger but her hand freezes on the top of the laptop.
It's the mustache that catches her eye.
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Bookmarked by saymore
08 Sep 2024