Page 78 of Bottles & Blades

Warmth in my belly.

Gentleness in my heart.

I nod, watch him slip from the room, then walk back into the bathroom and start taking off my clothes, folding them carefully and setting them on the counter—though I leave my underwear on.

I’m just tugging the shirt over my head when I hear the knock on the door I’d pushed mostly closed.

It opens as I’m drawing the tee down over my breasts.

One glance in the mirror tells me enough.

He’s seen me.

Allof me.

Or I guess all of me minus the small bits of flesh covered by my underwear.

I yank at the shirt, tugging it farther down.

“Baby,” he murmurs, stepping toward me. There’s aplinkas he sets a bottle on the counter then he’s dropping his hands to my waist, turning me to face him. “You’re beautiful.”

I inhale.

Because he means those words.

Iknowhe means them.

But also…I haven’t everfeltbeautiful.

I know my face is cute, but my body is curvy, bordering on too large—or at least when compared to the never-ending scroll of gorgeous women I see on my social media feeds. But more than my curves, I know I’m not like them in any way. I have lots of scars from my procedures. My belly cannot be considered anything close to flat. My butt is decent, but my thighs are large and one of my breasts is bigger than the other.

I’m so far from beautiful it’s not even funny.

Fingers under my chin, tilting my face up.

“Buttercup,” he says, those striking blue eyes holding mine. “Talk to me.”

“Did you speak to Chrissy?”

He nods. “We’ll set up a time to talk to Pascal and his team, work out something that feels good for both of us.”

Relief slides through me. “Good.”

That hand shifts, his face dropping closer. “Now,” he orders, “tell me what went through your mind when I walked in.”

I inhale, holding the air in my lungs.

I want to brush him off, to do anything but talk about this crap.

But…he opened up to me.

How can I not meet him in the same place?

“For years my body was my enemy. Doing nothing but making me sick. And then it was a tool the doctors manipulated to get me well.” My throat is tight, so I pause and just breathe for a second.

He doesn’t rush me.

“I didn’t know what cancer was when I was first diagnosed,” I whisper. “But by the end, it was the scariest word I ever heard uttered. There was always the worry of a reoccurrence—always is, I guess—even after they gave me theotherC word—cured.” I close my eyes, exhale. “I’m here. I’m alive. And I’m learning to understand that my body is no longer my worst enemy, but…” I peel open my lids. “I don’t think I look like the women you’re used to.”

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