Kevin stayed through the twentieth, and we made voracious love, hungry for each other. We watched a slew of movies, exercised together, grocery shopped, ran errands, and tried many of Milo Dickerson’s recipes for his future publication/cookbook, some of which we rejected. A moment hadn’t gone by for five days without him at my side. Together, we acted like husbands who were married for a dozen years, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Our conversations were sexy, sweet, and enlightening. Rarely were they heavy. Never did he wallow about his homelessness, loss of his house, and damage in his life.
“You can’t get enough of me,” I told him once, naked against him, post-sexed during a windstorm.
“You might be right,” he agreed with me. His chest rose and fell. Warm sweat clung to ev
