FLYING | Sequel of FALLEN (NaNoWriMo 2022 WINNER)

32.

I'm almost ashamed to say, I met only two handfuls of new people today, but I can't remember any of their names. I can't even focus on the conversation as we all gather around the dining table. Marcel and I helped Emma cook dinner as Logan greeted everyone. We introduced ourselves, but my attention was entirely elsewhere. I want to distract myself from the hand Marcel rests on my thigh under the dinner table. He hasn't been able to lift his hands from me since our little play in the snow. My heart feels happier. I feel like we've not only synced, but clicked together. Stronger than ever. Locked together with nothing that can break us apart now. And I'd bargain the rest of my life for it.

I look up at the love of my life, with Logan's voice in the background, and slide a hand on his to give it three gentle squeeze. His eyes find mine instantly, the gentlest smile on his lips.

"Pour ceux qui sont intéressés, Marcel est aussi disponible pour vous aider." Logan informs the writers around the table. At the sound of his name, my boyfriend looks at him with attention. "Il a récemment donné un cours à l'Université de Montréal. Il est définitivement la personne la mieux équipée pour vous parler du marché international et anglophone. Il n'a pas préparé de leçons en tant que tel, mais vous pouvez le questionner."

Logan looks at Mace with a proud smile, and pushes the empty dinner plate farther from him to rest his elbows on the table.

"Je serais heureux de m'asseoir avec vous et vous aider avec vos projets, en tant qu'éditeur, que Docteur en littérature ou pour avoir un point de vue extérieur. Je serai disponible pour des ateliers chaque matin pour les intéressés."

Marcel spoke with ease and ambition. He didn't not stutter. He spoke fluently, confidently. He returned Logan's smile as he addressed the writers. He was happy to offer help to those who wanted his expertise. He was truly honoured to do so. And my heart twitched inside my chest.

I observed his profile as he talked, taken by the raw and happy expression on his face. I took a mental picture, and decided that this is going to be what I will be sculpting. This moment. The moment when I feel something shifted in my man. Not the fifteen year-old traumatised boy. Not the boyfriend who manipulated me for his novel.

A man.

A man with ambition.

A man who's found his calling.

A man who has perfectly accepted his life, his past, and knows what the future will hold for him. For us.

I trail my thumb back and forth on the back of his hand still resting on my thigh. I don't think of anything else other than how I plan to assemble my sculpture. I look at him for the rest of dinner, dissecting the particularity of his traits, the way his dimple digs into his cheek, and the nature of the essence in his eyes. I study the bridge of his nose, the curve of his mouth, his lips.

I stop staring when I catch Logan's gaze on me. His eyes soften with a soft smile, and looks away only to turn his gaze to his empty plate. I look at Emma, effortlessly joyful, leading the conversation with another man. Their familiarity hints to me that he must be a regular, or a friend.

It's with excitement that I rise to my feet once Logan has declared dinner over. I help gather everybody's plates, and give them to our host to put in the dishwasher. But as soon as duty is done, I leave the main space to hide in the veranda that has now become my work place. I put my wrapped bricks of clay in front of the fire to warm them. I take out my tools and the metal stand I bought to give my sculpture a stronger core and a firmer bottom. I only leave the room to get a bucket of water and a towel to put on the ground to protect the floor from drips.