Savior

The Girl and the Mum

"Layla, you really didn't have to bring all those..."

I try to make my voice as gentle and slow as possible as if I were talking to a skittish bunny that might run away if I make any sudden movements.

Still, she huffs next to me, snapping her head up in my direction, "It's only polite, Harry."

I try my hardest to stifle my laughter as I watch her juggle four containers in her arms, each one full of some kind of dessert, and try to blow off a hair that had fallen in front of her eyes while we wait for my mum to open the door.

Her hair has grown out in the time she has been here –just grazing the very tops of her breasts and I can tell that she already wants to cut it again, especially since it's hard to manage while trying to carry enough sweets to turn me diabetic.

I had tried to tell her that just a simple cake or sheet of cookies would suffice just fine for dinner with my family, but she had driven herself nearly mad prepping for tonight.

Cookies, cake, pie, and brownies made to perfection, a wrap dress the same shade of her eyes covering up her amazing figure, and simple brown wedges that bring her head up to my chin.

She had also been a nervous wreck the whole ride here; fussing with her hair and mine and trying to get some information out of me on what to talk to my mother about.

It's completely endearing and heartwarming watching her making such an effort, but it's only stressing me out now.

When she reaches into her bag to pull out a tube of lipstick, I grab her wrist gently, "Layla, you don't need to do all of this, just be yourself and you'll be fine. Why are you trying so hard to impress my mother?"

A deep flush rises in her cheeks and she looks at me with the most adorable confused expression, dropping the lipstick into her purse and fully turning towards me.

"Because your mother is very important to you... I want to make sure she likes me."

And those words make my heart soar in my chest, my own cheeks warm.

Without even really thinking, my head swoops down to capture her bottom lip between my own. It's a soft, short peck –just long enough to get a quick taste of her vanilla chapstick and to leave my lips tingling.

Ths last week with Layla has been surreal. The adjustment from friends to more than friends had been a smoother transition than imagined.

Touches are easier and more frequent, kisses are never sparse and never disappointing, conversations never lull, and affection is only subdued around others and when Layla is having an off day.

Which, don't come as frequently as they used to.

Everything is so much simpler now, as if we were always meant to be together like this.

And I can honestly say that I have never been happier. That I have never woken up with such a large smile on my face, actually looking forward to the rest of my day.

I still can't believe it's real –that I actually get to call her mine, that I can touch her, and laugh with her and just be with her. Only one thing has put a damper on another wise perfect week.

She hasn't told me she loves me.

I understand it, hell, I even expected it, but it doesn't make the sting hurt any less. I don't expect her to open up to me completely, or even a lot just yet considering everything she's been through. I know how hard this is for her: to be around me, to be affectionate with me, to even sleep with me next to her, but it hurts.

But the pain of having her stay at arm's length is much easier to bear with than the pain of not having her there at all.