Grace
I’ve been warm for at least fifteen minutes now, but Dawson has practically refused to release me from my blanket burrito. He’s got me bundled up like I’m three years old and seeing snow for the first time — tucked, wrapped, swaddled. I’m pretty sure if he could Velcro the blanket shut, he would.
It was just a little colder than I would’ve liked. It wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if either of us had thought to grab our coats before heading out for our little… tryst? Is that what they used to call it? Whatever it was, it definitely didn’t involve common sense or proper winter attire.
And as much as I want to break free from these layers, that would mean moving away from him — and there is absolutely nothing on this earth that could make me do such a thing right now.
I’m tucked u
