I lost count of how many times I caught my tongue running beneath the
last three words to be uttered so early in this romance. There is still far too much to know about each other and despite my heart, there is a difference between starry-eyed mystery and logic.
Even as she slept, watching her, and dwelling on how lucky I am to share even these smallest of moments with her, I still bait my breath so as to not whisper those unmistakable words just in case, possibly, she wakes.
I thought maybe once we were alone together.
In the southern hemisphere.
In the Caribbean air.
Even then I’m not sure when what started as nervousness became cowardice. Each time the words filled my mouth I’d gobble a vodka, swirl it around my lips and gums so it would burn the phrase back down my throat into the pit
of my stomach – the furthest point from my head, so they can lay sunken
and not escape me.
