Artichoke Heart

He flopped beside me, breathless, his face blotchy and pink. He reached for me, but weakly like he had no strength left, and I shifted so he could slip his arm under my neck

"Ohhh," he said in a shaky voice. "Ohh Ella, my love. Oh my sweet girl."

I laid an arm across his heaving chest and watched him as he attempted to recover.

"I love you, so much.Je t'aime, je t'aime."

I felt so content next to him, with the sticky warmth of his body pressed against mine, so familiar and intimate. I decided I'd never felt happier in my whole life. I kept rolling his words around in my head from earlier, stunned and delighted that he wanted to be with me, knowing in my heart he meant every word. I thought I knew what I wanted, too, but some small, prudent part of my brain not drugged with pleasure and contentment reminded me it wasn't as simple as saying yes. There were things that needed to be sorted out first.

For a long time, we lay in silence. So long, I thought he'd fallen asleep, but when I lifted my head, he was wide awake, too. No doubt lost in his own thoughts about what could happen between us.

I propped myself up on my elbow so I could look at him better. He turned his head and gave me the sleepiest, most attractive smile, but didn't speak. He just watched me while I traced a finger over his face, enjoying all the angles and curves, each tiny freckle and scar, committing every detail to memory for later.

I brought my mouth to his and kissed him as softly as I could. I closed my eyes and focused on the sensations, the softness and the heat, committing that to memory, too. When I drew back, his expression was a complex mix of emotion, probably a lot like the expression on my own face. I was pretty certain I'd never loved anyone as much as Danny before.

We spent the next two hours making love slowly—gentle caresses, long, luxurious kisses, and deep, slow penetration—gradually building in intensity, but never to a frenzy like it had in the kitchen. I wouldn't have thought I could still get turned on to the point of breathlessness after all the pleasure I'd felt already, but he took me there again, with agonizing slowness until I reached my third climax of the night. And then I sucked him to his peak, savoring his taste and committing to memory all his curses and praises as he emptied himself between my lips. For later.

It was just after 7:00 A.M. when we showered and dressed and left the apartment. Initially, we thought we'd have brunch out somewhere, but it was still too early, so we found an open market instead, and picked up four bags of groceries. Back at the apartment, Danny cooked for me again and we ate together curled up on the couch. It was homey and sweet, and I felt myself sinking into daydreams of life together in Paris.

Neither of us talked about the offer he'd made earlier, or the time slipping away, instead we cleaned up the kitchen together, shed our clothes once more, and returned to the bedroom.

We stayed there for the rest of the morning. We made love and we fucked. At times it was sweet and slow, and other times, demanding and forceful. But through it all, we touched—always a hand on the other's body, and always holding eye contact as if we couldn't bear to look away from each others' faces. We were connected physically and emotionally, and I knew once he left, and even when he was an ocean away, that connection would remain.

As it got closer to noon, a melancholy mood took us both, our lovemaking grew slower, sweeter, and no longer focused on reaching a climax; it became all about the pleasure of being together. My body was sore inside, and in all the places he'd gripped me tightly. I felt a tiredness deep down from so much unfamiliar exertion, the intense emotions I'd been feeling all night, and from having been awake for over 30 hours. Looking into Danny's face, I saw he was fatigued as well. Still handsome, but clearly worn out.

When I remarked on how tired I felt and how tired he looked, he slid from the bed and returned with his cellphone. He lay back on the bed and I watched him thumb his way to his camera app.

"What are you doing?"

"Is this...?"

He held the phone at arm's length, but it only showed the ceiling.

"You have to switch the camera," I said, reaching up to tap the icon. A moment later, and we treated to the image of our disheveled faces and sweaty, naked bodies on the screen.

"I've never actually taken a selfie before."

"Seriously? You're going to start now? When we look like this?"

"We look hot as hell," he said seriously. He panned the camera down our bodies and back up to our faces. "Look at us."

I laughed and he took a photo. It was terrible. So he took another, and another, and in each one we looked sweaty and tired, but happy. So happy. We scrolled through the dozen pictures, laughing hard.

"One more," he said, holding the camera out. "This one will be perfect. Just smile with that gorgeous mouth of yours,chérie."

I had my doubts it would look any better than the others, but I smiled, watching his face in the phone's screen. He was watching me, too, and the result was, as he'd predicted, perfect. We were still sweaty, my hair was still tangled, his eyes still had dark circles, but our smiles were so genuine, so clearly the smiles of two people in love, it couldn't have captured the moment better.

"Send me that one," I said.

I watched while he sent the picture by text, and heard my phone chime from the hallway. I knew I would spend a lot of time looking at that photo in the next few days, and with that thought, my sadness returned. I sighed, thinking how hard it was going to be to go back to my life once he left.

He sighed, too, and rolled toward me to kiss my cheek. Wordlessly, he left the bed for the bathroom and I heard the shower turn on. I didn't bother to look at the clock; I knew it was time for him to go.

I lay silently, tears welling up. I hadn't cried in a long time, maybe a whole year, even though I regularly felt the urge, but I'd learned how to push my feelings down deep. This time, I let it happen, and for the few minutes Danny was cleaning up, I sobbed into the rumpled sheets of my bed.

He found me that way and slid onto the bed behind me, wrapping his arms around me. He buried his face in the hair at my neck, and a moment later, I felt the soft shake of his body as he, too, wept.

We lay together like that for a few minutes until we'd both stopped crying and then I twisted in his arms until I could face him. I kissed his cheek and then his mouth, and for a few more minutes we kissed, eventually parting with great reluctance.

I wrapped a bathrobe around myself and watched from the bed while he dressed. I felt so many things, primarily sad he was leaving, but there was hope there, too. I knew everything in my life was about to change for the better.

He took forever to get dressed. He seemed to be moving in slow motion, delaying the inevitable. In the end, he left his tie off, stuffed into the pocket of his jacket, but even sleep-deprived and wearing yesterday's clothes, he looked elegant and sexy. His face, however, was troubled and dark. I thought at first he was just feeling the same sadness I was that this lovely encounter had to end, but when he finally looked up at me, I realized he was much more upset than that. I stood and moved toward him, concerned.

"This feels so surreal," he said. "I can't believe I'm leaving you.Willingly leaving you. What's wrong with me, Ella? I mean, I have to go. I have to see my family. I have to be at work in ten days, I can't not go. But, I can't believe I'm doing this to myself again. I really am an idiot. Truly."

His face was serious, his eyebrows drawn down tight, and he fixed me with an intense look that made my heart stop. He was clearly struggling. I started to say something, but he closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I love you, Eleanor. I hope I've made that clear. And if you need anything through this process of leaving him—anything at all—call me. Day or night. I don't care. I'll always be available to you if you need to talk. I'll fly you to Paris if you just want a hug. I'll drop everything and come to you, if that's what you want, if that's what you need. If it's three in the morning and you want crêpes, I will come and make them for you, sweetness. I love you so much."

He opened his eyes and I was surprised by how wet they were. He brought his hands up to my face and I thought for a second I could feel them shaking. He kissed me softly and turned, heading down the hall to the door.

I followed, trying to think what to say, but no words sounded right. But the depth of his sadness was scaring me. I hated for him to leave feeling like that.

I watched him slip his overcoat on and button it slowly, his eyes down. He put his scarf on with the same care, still not looking at me.

"Danny..?" I moved close to him and he looked up, his eyes bright with suppressed tears.

"I can't just go," he said. He reached for my face again and this time I was certain he was shaking. "Ella, I need to tell you. I need you to know. I want to be with you. I want it more than anything, and I'll do anything you ask me to do, anything you want. I just want...this. I want this." For just a second his hands tightened on my face. He brought his mouth to mine and just kissed me softly before drawing back. "I want you. Us. I'm ready. Just say the word, and I'm yours. I'm ready. I love you."

"I love you, too," I breathed. I couldn't remember if I'd said it before, or only thought it in my head. I realized, he wasn't sure. He wasn't entirely sure how I felt. So I said it again.

"I love you. I love you so, so much, Danny."

His face changed slightly, but he didn't smile the way I thought he would. If anything, his expression became more intense.

"I've thrown away every chance I've had at real happiness, Ella. So many times, it's a joke.I'm a joke. I've just thrown love away out of fear of being hurt again, but I'm ready.Je suis prêt, ma chérie. I am yours, and I am ready." He smiled then, but he didn't look happy, just desperate. "Please, please, please, Ella. Please, don't let me fuck this up." His voice broke on the last word and he swallowed hard.

"Danny..." His eyes were so full of sadness it nearly broke my heart.

"Help me do this right. Let me show you how much I love you, Eleanor. I have to go, but I want this to not end. I want to spend my life with you. I love you, sweetheart. Marry me."

I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. Stunned, and surprised by the raw and vulnerable state of him. The offer of marriage itself wasn't a surprise, but it still took my breath away. I stood speechless, staring at his expression of uncertainty, my heart like a hammer inside me. I saw his brow shift, saw the doubt there, saw his world about to crumble in the too-long time it took me to respond, and found my voice.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, Danny. Yes! I love you." Why had it taken me so long to say it? Why hadn't I been saying it all along? "Oh God, I love you so much. I love you, and yes. YES, I'll marry you."

His face split in a grin and two fat tears slid down his cheeks. The next second he was kissing me and pulling me close. When he drew back, we both laughed breathlessly. My heart was in my throat. He wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands, took my face once more and kissed me softly, once, twice, then once more, leaving butterflies of arousal inside me.

If time had allowed, I've no doubt we would have fallen back onto that bed in each other's arms. But, it was already well past twelve. This time, he really had to go.

As we drew apart, I asked, "What's Christmas like in Paris?"

He smiled, and this time it was a genuine, untroubled smile. It stretched across his face and lit up his tired eyes. "Oh God, Ella," he said, sighing. "It's magical. I can't wait to show you."

He found his coat and shoes by the door, and once he was bundled up and ready to leave, he pulled me close. He kissed my head, pulled back enough to kiss my mouth, then let his arms drop. I think we must have said something, some kind of goodbye, but all I remember is the smile on his face as the door finally closed, and the sensation as reality settled in. I'd said yes. He'd asked, and I'd said yes.

I locked the door, dropped my bathrobe on the bed, and stepped into the shower. First, I'd find something for lunch, then I'd take a long nap, and then I'd get to work on my divorce.

For the first time in ages, I realized I couldn't wait for Steven to come home.