I remember the last hour I spent with him. I had just finished buzzing his head; we were covered in his hair and both of us were in desperate need of a shower. I went first. As I walked downstairs, I could hear him on the phone. I started packing up my bag, ready to head out the door.
The call ended, and he wrapped his arms around me from behind.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes,” I said quickly, trying to make sure I actually would.
I turned around and met his eyes.
“One more hour until the dryer ends?” he asked, with the saddest puppy-dog eyes.
I really did have to go—but suddenly, I found myself sitting in his bathroom while he took a shower.
Did you know that once you sit with a man while he showers, he’ll never again be able to shower alone?
He was talking about something I don’t recall. I just stared out the bathroom window, trying to convince myself I wouldn’t miss him. But then I missed looking at his face… so I peeked through the curtain and asked him for a quick kiss.
A few moments later, the water stopped. He wrapped himself in a towel. I dried him off one last time and told him to meet me downstairs once he was dressed.
He helped me take my bags out to the car, and one last time, we walked inside together—straight to the book room.
He sat down while I stood in the doorway. He patted the seat next to him.
“Come here.”
My feet were slow, my body resistant. When I finally sat beside him, he wrapped his arm around me, and I sank into him.
He held my hand and gently rubbed my thumb.
The dryer had seven minutes left.
Neither of us said a word until the ding.
God, this sucks.