I sat like those girls in movies when they’re in a cabin alone in the middle of winter (who really does that, anyway?), sideways and with my knees pulled up and my feet covered with the end of my favorite blanket. I even had the steaming mug of the perfect blend of hot chocolate and coffee, which I kept steady in one hand while pulling the blanket closer around my narrow shoulders.
I took a sip and sighed, laying my head on the back of the chair and gazing out of the window. Snow swirled and fell, engulfing the already hidden landscape in more powdery whiteness. Normally, I would have one of my various leather bound books on my lap; right now I’m working on Pride and Prejudice for the second time. But not today, today wasn’t a day for reading.
Normally, on a day like today, Zac would be sitting on the floor, leaning against my chair and reading his own book, which was usually a fantasy novel of some sort. But to completely honest, I wasn’t sure where Zac was. All I knew was that he wasn’t with me. Which, to be completely honest again, made me slightly uneasy.
Times like this were when the feeling came creeping back. That feeling deep in my chest that felt like someone were dunking some secret part of me in ice water and burning it with a cigar at the same time. That feeling that keeps growing and I can’t quite shake until he’s near again.
Some people may think that feeling is creepy and clingy, but I disagree. I tend to think of it as love. Not feeling quite right unless that person is there and being able to look into their eyes and know that’s exactly where you should be for the rest of forever, that’s what I think love is.
I must have been too engrossed in my thoughts to hear Zac get home, which is odd because I usually pick up on every little noise in our house. I jumped slightly when I felt his hands on my shoulders but relaxed as that feeling of ice water and cigar burns melted away.
“Beautiful day for thinking, isn’t it?”