his eyes and tried to imagine only her smile. It warmed him against the winter chill. Apparently he'd forgot to turn the heat on again.
She mumbled an answer but he didn't hear it. He was concentrating too hard. Soon their breathing seemed to sync up and he felt a real sense of calm stealing over the room. The setting sun gave way to a darkness and beneath the comforter they drifted into sleep still holding hands and tangled in a mess of blankets and one of Monica's black plastic flip-flops.
**~~**
The morning sunlight tickled him awake, making little droplets of sweat roll down his forehead. Throwing the cover off his head, Martin gasped a breath of fresh air. It hit his lungs like crisp mint and he inhaled again with his mouth bobbing up and down like a fish.
He looked up, half expected to find himself alone, but his heart thudded when he saw Monica sleeping against his chest with an expression on her face as though she were lost in deep thoughts. He left his face nestle against her hair and breathed in the musky scent of homemade shampoo and minty conditioner. Monica ran a small soap business and shipped her products all over the world. She looked up the shipping addresses online and then printed off little pictures of each house, or each country if she couldn't find the home, and pinned them onto a neon string across her bedroom wall. Her soaps were quite well traveled.
Holding his breath he tried to move his arm out from under Monica's shoulder without waking her. It had fallen asleep during the night and felt like the numb limb of a corpse. The shift in his movement caused her to stir and after a few seconds she squinted up at him through the blurred gaze of sleep.
"Martin?" she mumbled, her voice dry and thick.
"Um, good morning," he answered. Wiggling his fingers caused shooting pains to zing up his arm and into his shoulder. He let it lie on the bed and tried to ignore the prickly feelings as the blood began to circulate again.
"Morning," she said after a few seconds of silence. She gazed down at herself, still dressed
She mumbled an answer but he didn't hear it. He was concentrating too hard. Soon their breathing seemed to sync up and he felt a real sense of calm stealing over the room. The setting sun gave way to a darkness and beneath the comforter they drifted into sleep still holding hands and tangled in a mess of blankets and one of Monica's black plastic flip-flops.
**~~**
The morning sunlight tickled him awake, making little droplets of sweat roll down his forehead. Throwing the cover off his head, Martin gasped a breath of fresh air. It hit his lungs like crisp mint and he inhaled again with his mouth bobbing up and down like a fish.
He looked up, half expected to find himself alone, but his heart thudded when he saw Monica sleeping against his chest with an expression on her face as though she were lost in deep thoughts. He left his face nestle against her hair and breathed in the musky scent of homemade shampoo and minty conditioner. Monica ran a small soap business and shipped her products all over the world. She looked up the shipping addresses online and then printed off little pictures of each house, or each country if she couldn't find the home, and pinned them onto a neon string across her bedroom wall. Her soaps were quite well traveled.
Holding his breath he tried to move his arm out from under Monica's shoulder without waking her. It had fallen asleep during the night and felt like the numb limb of a corpse. The shift in his movement caused her to stir and after a few seconds she squinted up at him through the blurred gaze of sleep.
"Martin?" she mumbled, her voice dry and thick.
"Um, good morning," he answered. Wiggling his fingers caused shooting pains to zing up his arm and into his shoulder. He let it lie on the bed and tried to ignore the prickly feelings as the blood began to circulate again.
"Morning," she said after a few seconds of silence. She gazed down at herself, still dressed
