Eleanor

While it's still early, they go up to the bar for a drink. She'd like to be able to make the kind of heart-achingly beautiful expressions of love he murmurs to her almost daily, but she's still a bit uncomfortable even speaking the word 'love', and finds herself blushing as she stammers out a compliment to his kisses.

Neither of them dances, really. They make a stab at it, since the jukebox is playing, and it's an excuse to touch each other.

They don't get through half a song before the pretense of dancing is dropped. They stop moving, she doesn't even hear the music as he pulls his fingers through her hair and her eyes meet his in a long & loving gaze.

She's read so much poetry, so much literature about love & it's physical expression, but she's never read anything like what it feels like when Justin kisses her, his lips trembling with reverence, his teeth biting her hungrily, and she doesn't think she could find words adequate to convey it herself.

They head back to the house with their groceries so Justin can make their dinner. Justin is at home in any kitchen, chatting happily with her as he chops vegetables, likes he does in his own house & even in hers. They are almost never alone like this: in either house there is usually someone around, and there is always the chance of being intruded on if they are anywhere except Justin's bedroom, the only place they can call their own. They're just chatting lightly as Justin cooks, not saying anything particularly personal, but the guaranteed privacy allows an intimacy of expression Eleanor cannot manage if she thinks someone might hear.

He puts so much thought into his meals, and he talks about the process the way her professors would talk about creating art. He doesn't read & he's not educated, but he has an excellent vocabulary & expresses himself so beautifully. Who is he? she wonders, Where is he from? He seems to live in an eternal present, with no past & no thought of the future, he speaks of past experiences like he tells her about his dreams, like little vignettes, completely disconnected from his current reality.

Beneath his tough exterior, a gentle domesticity emerges. He takes care of every chore, cooking, cleaning, lighting the fire in the fireplace, without asking or expecting any thanks or help, all done with careful attention to the finest details. She cannot help but indulge in a little fantasy, pretending that this is their new home, just the two of them. And as though he shares her thought, after he's cleaned up the dishes, he carries her upstairs to the bedroom and they make love all night like newlyweds, falling asleep in an exhausted tangle only a scant hour before the sunrise.

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