Page 61 of The Candle Palace (Jamison Valley 6)
I shrugged. “It’s okay. I’ll see how it goes. I’m sure it will be a great day.”
Great was a gross exaggeration, but until I had another job lined up, I wasn’t going to quit my current one. The last thing I needed was to be unemployed.
“So what’s your plan for tomorrow?” I asked.
“Don’t have one. I’ll hang out here until you get home.”
Home. I loved that in only a day, home had a different meaning. No matter how work went tomorrow, there’d be something to look forward to at the end of my day. Milo here, waiting for me.
“How long before you need to get back to Montana?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “I need to make some calls tomorrow and find out what’s happening with work. See how much longer I can stretch this. They’ve been great so far but I’m sure they’ll be ready to have a full staff of deputies again. I was thinking a week? Maybe two? That okay with you?”
“I’ll take whatever you can get.” I’d savor each night that I was able to fall asleep curled into his side. Sleeping alone again would be an adjustment when he left.
It was getting darker outside, and for having done nothing but each other all day, the hours had passed much too quickly. We’d spent the day in bed. Breakfast had been skipped. Lunch had been a plate full of cheese, crackers, grapes and some veggies we’d shared on top of the covers. By four o’clock, we’d both been starved so I’d called for pizza delivery and we’d forced ourselves from the bedroom to shower and dress.
Milo’s jeans were rolled up at the ankles and his feet bare. His plain, white T-shirt smelled like fabric softener, and when he held me, I buried my nose in the cotton to smell it mixed with his own woodsy scent.
Not even the smell of our pepperoni pizza and garlic bread bites was better than Milo.
We’d inhaled our early dinner, then retreated to the couch. Right before five, HR had called and put a damper on what would have been a perfect day.
“Want to watch some TV?” I asked.
“Nope.” Milo kissed my hair and stood, hauling me up beside him. Then he led me to the bedroom, shutting the lights off as we walked through the doorway.
The lights had been off all day.
I’d spent hours last night and today exploring Milo’s body with my hands and lips, but I hadn’t actually seen him. He’d kept himself mostly covered with the sheets. We’d showered separately. So when Milo reached behind his head to tug off his T-shirt, I flipped on the lights.
He froze. “What?”
“Nothing. I thought maybe we could leave the lights on for a change.”
“Not tonight.” He dropped his shirt back into place over his torso.
“Why not?”
“I like the dark.”
This was true. He’d preferred his hospital room dark. But was this always how he’d been? Or was it since he’d been burned?
“There’s nothing to hide from me,” I said gently. There’s nothing to fear.
“The scars. They’re . . . ugly.”
“They are part of you. And there’s nothing about you that I’ll ever see as ugly.” I crossed the distance between us and took the hem of his shirt in my hands. Then slowly, I lifted it up his stomach.
His body was stiff, his abs flexed as I carefully raised his shirt. When it was bunched up on his chest, he wouldn’t lift his arms so I could tug it over his head.
“Milo,” I urged, giving him a small nod. “It’s okay.”
The tension in his shoulders fell away. With a flurry, he ripped the shirt off and threw it to the floor. It puddled at our feet.
The burn scars on Milo’s torso were red. In time, they’d fade, though the texture of his skin would never be completely smooth. The seams where his grafts met original skin were like lines on a map.
Yes, it was ragged at the moment. Yes, it was raw. But he would always be beautiful in my eyes.
