23: day out

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 T W E N T Y - T H R E E

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Callan's POV

I shifted slightly as a ray of light hit my still-closed eyes.

Though it wasn't bright, it woke me up from my sleep. I blinked my eyes half open; the window was the first thing I saw.

I was barely processing anything, still practically asleep.

The only thing that registered in my mind was the arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

I didn't know how much I had moved in my sleep last night, but I now had my back pressed to his chest, his whole body molded to mine.

He had one arm stretched across the pillow under my head, and the other one on my waist.

I could tell he knew that I was awake when he pulled me even closer to him.

I let out an inaudible sigh, feeling completely rested despite the early hour.

I didn't turn around to look at him, my eyes on the little sliver of the window that wasn't covered by the curtains.

My body relaxed, my heart rate slowing down.

I felt weightless, kind of like I was floating.

Maybe it was because of the fact that I was still half asleep.

We watched the sun come up, our hearts beating in sync.

His fingers brushed against my hip.

I closed my eyes, contentment gripping onto me in the most beautiful way.

He made me feel like I was floating.

The sun had risen fully when I woke up next.

I couldn't tell what time it was, but I could tell that I had moved again.

I knew I had the tendency to shift around in my sleep and I could only hope that he wasn't too disturbed by it.

His breathing was even, his heart beat under my cheek.

I had my arm around his waist, my face on his chest, tucked right under his chin.

I couldn't tell if he was awake, but the hand that rested on his stomach moved just the slightest.

I looked at the small scars on his hand.

Without thinking twice, I lifted my arm that was on his waist and my fingers gently brushed against the more prominent scar across the back of his hand.

I lightly traced the lines with my index finger.

His grip on my waist tightened.

I stop the tracing, hoping it didn't make him uncomfortable. Just as I retracted my hand away from his, he grabbed it, holding on tightly.

It was too early for me to be blushing, but I couldn't help it with how this man made me feel.

I still hadn't looked at him, feeling partly abashed at the thought of seeing his face after sleeping in his arms all night.

I had worked so hard for a large part of my life to make sure that I felt strong within myself.

I worked every day, even as a child, to make sure that I was keeping my stutter under control.

I slipped on my tallest pair of heels so that I could walk around my store feeling large and in charge.

I faked a smile at every event, at every fashion show so that I could make the connections I needed to make.

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