We are conspirators in the night, plotting and planning beneath the flicker of fluorescent stars. The storm rages with us, a chaos of intentions that mirrors my heart, my life, my change. Lucas bends close, his scent an intoxicating certainty. Our shoulders touch as we work through the papers, through the spaces between us, through the fragile newness of what we are. The rough brush of his hands fills me with questions, questions and a terrifying excitement. I don’t know how to be this woman. I don’t know how to be this person. I don’t know how to be.
Lucas is more familiar, more of a stranger than I’ve ever let him be, more than I want to let him be, more than I know how to let him be. I don’t know how to let him be this, be this much. But I let him.
The room is filled with the scent
