I Hope You Find Me by Trish Marie Dawson Page A

my
sweatshirt. The friction was warming and I let my head rest on his
chest, just at his collar bone where I could feel his heart
beating. I wanted to freeze that moment and hold onto it, so I
closed my eyes and listened to the steady thump of his heart as my
cheek rose and fell with his chest as he breathed.
    Connor raised his hand up to my face and
tucked my hair behind my ear, and slowly trailed his long fingers
down my neck, before returning his hand to my arm again. I fell
asleep curled up next to him some time after, as he caressed my
arm. It was a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
     
    ***
     
    When he led her outside he wasn’t sure where
he was going to take her until he started moving. The pathway to
the pool seemed to beckon him, so he moved them in that direction.
He wanted to talk to her, but it seemed right to be quiet for now.
He knew something upset her upstairs, and in her room it was as if
they shared a certain understanding between them. Taking her hand
was a bold move, but he wanted her to know he cared, and he didn’t
have the words to tell her that, at least not yet.
    Down by the pool he wanted to hold her close
to him. He wanted to tell her she was safe, he wanted to tell her
not to leave. But instead he held her tighter, tried to warm her
against him and watched as her dog made a mess of the
landscaping.
    When he thought she was asleep on his chest
he dared to touch her hair where it had slid forward over her face.
He let his fingertips graze her neck and he felt her adjust
slightly, burrowing against him. He took his hand away and put it
back on her arm, and leaned his head closer to her ear.
    “ Who did you lose?” He whispered.
    Drowsy, she answered him without opening her
eyes. “My world.”
    “ Me too.” He said, as he gently kissed the
top of her head.
     

 
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN

     
    We woke up when the sun was past its apex,
and the wind from the impending storm was strong enough to slap the
cabana curtains against our chair with fury. When I opened my eyes
I was looking at a zipper. At first, I couldn’t register what I was
seeing. I mean, I had known what a zipper was for over thirty
years, but this zipper was completely foreign to me and definitely
didn’t belong two inches away from my nose. I was laying on
something soft and warm and blue, and as I blinked the sleep away,
what was underneath me moved. I snapped my head up, and realized it
was Connor’s chest I had been resting on, the zipper belonging to
his pullover sweatshirt.
    He was yawning with his eyes shut, and I took
the opportunity to sit up and put some distance between our faces.
Zoey was lying at our feet. She had moved under the cabana after
her siesta by the pool. She sat up and stretched as Connor and I
came to terms independently that we had just slept next to each
other.
    I was the first to get up. I stood so quickly
that my head spun, and my vision went blurry and I lost my balance,
bumping into Connor’s legs. He placed a hand on my hip to steady me
and I laughed nervously and suggested we go upstairs and talk about
Matt and Mariah, and driving out east.
    Fifteen minutes later we were upstairs,
rinsing the dog off in Connor’s oversized bathtub for the second
time that week. Even with the nap, I was exhausted and overwhelmed.
We tossed all the towels we had used to rub the dog off and wipe
down the bathroom into the washer along with our clothes. I
scrubbed the smell of wet dog off my arms with one of the hotel
scented soaps neatly displayed in a silver bowl on my bathroom
sink. After pulling my hair back into a messy pony tail, I changed
into my tank top and sleep shorts and pulled on one of the hotels
thick, cotton-weaved, white robes while I waited for our clothes to
dry.
    When we met in the sitting room, Connor was
barefoot, wearing a pair of his faded blue jeans and a thin white
V-neck shirt that showed off the sleek and smooth definition of his
collarbone. I tried not to stare, but failed, epically. I