Page 139 of David's Love

What is it about this man?

And why do women feel the need to write to him and about him?

Rain wrote an entire book.

His eyes come to me. Tired, heavy, a dark ocean simmering in them.

I stop myself from asking anything related to the news.

It’s been a lot to go through for him and me.

“You want me to sleep in the other room.”

He clicks his tongue.

“No. Come here.”

He taps the mattress beside him. I walk to the bed and sit on the covers next to him.

Making an effort, he shifts his gloomy expression for me.

He flicks his chin to my laptop.

“When did you write this?” He asks quietly.

“A while ago. I was so desperate I couldn’t put anything down that I wrote this piece one evening.”

A sad smile tugs at his lips.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs while I study his eyes.

“And sad. That’s how it came to me.”

He tips his eyes down, his hand stroking mine gently.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, and his new voice brings me some relief.

At least we’re back to our old routine.

“I ate something downstairs.”

“I mean food. Real food.”

He picks up his phone, ready to order.

“I wanted to invite you out,” he goes on. “We can still do that, but maybe you want to stay in?”

He wants to stay in. And frankly, I don’t mind that either. I prefer the intimacy of our suite.

“It sounds good to me.”

He orders food without asking me if I want anything in particular. But everything he orders is to my liking.

He knows me by now.

The woman tells him the food will arrive shortly before he puts his phone down.

He doesn’t move, so I wait.

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