Page 92 of It's Always Sonny

“How can you be so certain? You hardly know me anymore.”

“I don’t know if you started drinking coffee or if you’ve become a marathon runner. I don’t know if you still binge watch Gilmore Girls when you’re having a bad day. But I know you’re even more thoughtful and kind than ever.”

My throat is so thick with emotion, I can’t swallow it down. “Me?”

“You’ve taken time to get to know what every person here needed, and you accommodated it. You changed our schedule to make sure in-laws and toddlers felt every bit as included as the rest of us. You found treats from Nonna’s childhood and my dad and his siblings’ childhood and arranged for special gift baskets to be put in each of their rooms. You’ve shown my family so much love already that they’re furious with me for ever having let you let me go.”

I don’t know what to say. The ice around my heart has melted completely, and now I’m feeling warm and my chest is bubbling and my brain is telling me I’m being stupid but I don’t know what part of me to listen to. I duck my head down further into Sonny’s chest, and the action pushes hair into my face.

UGH.

My hair!

It’s in my face, and if Sonny thought that little itch on his nose was bad, he hasn’t felt this. It’s everywhere.

I should say something. I should respond to Sonny bearing his soul—beautifully, I might add—but this itch is out of control. How am I supposed to live like this?

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks. “Say something, please.”

“It’s not you,” I say, irritation bubbling in my chest. “It’s this stupid hair! It’s itching my face, but I don’t want to move and let the cold in while you’re still not back to temperature!”

“Here.” He starts moving his arm, but I pin it with my elbow.

“Don’t! It’s just hair. I won’t let you get cold again.”

His laugh comes out in a quiet breath. “Then I guess you’ll have to live with the itch forever.”

“Actually …”

A brilliant idea has formed in my mind.

I start to inch upwards, pushing off Sonny to get my face higher toward his face.

“Bend your head toward me,” I say.

He does, and I shove my face into the whiskers on his chin and rub.

“Oh my gosh,” I say, rubbing my cheek all over the short stubble. I love stubble. This is simultaneously the sexiest and most satisfying feeling imaginable. “Mmm.”

“Are you purring?”

“Meow,” I say, rubbing the spot over and over again.

Sonny’s arm is still around me, his forearm running up my side and back, his hand splayed between my shoulder blades. His other hand grips my arm that’s wrapped around him.

Ah.

Now that the worst of the itch has been scratched, I realize my whole face is itchy. I press my forehead, eyebrows, cheeks, nose, and chin into his face, letting his whiskers relieve every vexing tickle and irritation.

“This is amazing,” I say, rubbing my nose on his chin. “It’s as good as a massage.”

I feel him smile against my face. “I like post-massage Parker.”

“Shut up,” I say, scratching my forehead until I’m satisfied. I sigh and lay my head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Which is it? Shut up or thank you?”

“Both.”

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