Chapter 102: THE PLEASURES

Lisa’s POV

Time went on, like even the earth wanted to chase the easy heat that still bloomed in my chest from our morning whispering. There was no rushing, no panicking, no deadlines breathing down my neck. All I knew was that underneath it all was a soft buzz of Leo—his proximity, the sound of his voice, the way he seemed to glide around me and with me with a quiet soothing that still took me aback and yet was solid enough to rest all her weight upon.

By noon, he suggested a walk in the park. A little something. A little something.

Without giving it a second thought, I brought his hand up to my sleeve and the two of us stepped out of the house into the gentle warmth of the afternoon.

Leo started slowing down to my pace, not I suppose because he had to, but because he wanted to. Of course, it was quite individualistic, his willingness to slow down and walk at my side as though accompanying me on the journey was more important than the journey itself.

We were just talking about “nothing and everything.” He told me about a book he'd read years ago that he wanted to read again, and I told him about a café I had once fallen for but never had any more time for. We even shushed ourselves — just wa-I-ked with our hands entwined and let the silence of the moment soak in to us.

Then the strangest thing happened. The world felt… lighter. Softer. Like it had rustled life into a softer rhythm.

Leo made one stop at a small pond and gave my hand a gentle pull. When I saw him, he was smiling — a real, warm smile that lit up his eyes.

“Lisa,” he said softly, “I never knew that ordinary moments could feel this right.”

I felt that. Deeply.

Because I had not known, either. Not until now.

No elaborate gestures.

Just this.

The simplicity of us being together. As the air warmed up, we headed back to the house, still holding hands. It wasn’t until we crossed the threshold that the house felt different—not just ours, but ours together.

Without a word, Leo walked to the kitchen and started to gather ingredients from the fridge, I trailed behind him as usual, all moves took no more than an effortless flow silhouette in the silent rhythm we found. He diced vegetables as I stirred the sauce. We flowed around one another, light on our feet, and crossed shoulders this way and that, exchanging smiles.

There was laughter— warm, easy, and more so when Leo tried to douse up saying far more than he had the skill to do so.

“Let me,” I said, nudging him with my hip.

He put up his hands in a conciliatory manner. “I just wanted to help.”

“You tried to kill us,” I said teasingly.

His laughter, I’ve been told – I don’t know why – was the one that loosened something inside of me. “Fair point.”

Dinner was simple –pasta, salad, a glass of wine – but it felt cosy in a way the upmarket restaurant never did. We ate at the tiny table by the window with our knees uncomfortably pressed together under, talking about everything and nothing. It wasn’t the words that had value — it was the sensation that we were completely at home.

Completely present. Completely together.

After the meal, we moved to the rug. Leo retrieved a blanket and covered our legs with it before I was pressed up against him. A low, steady sound was coming from the television set, but neither of us really had our attention on the movie that was playing.

We had calm moments–in fleeting looks, gentle touches of hands, wordless conversations, tiny smiles. I nestled up to him, my chest heaving in tandem with his heartbeat that I could feel through the material of his shirt, steady and soothing. His fingers moved leisurely through my hair, stroking me and literally stripping me of all sense and sensation.

Nothing was barnburner but then it felt like barnburner. I kind of closeness that I never found the language to describe. A gentleness I didn’t know I wanted.

At one point, Leo lowered his head to me. “Are you happy?” he said softly, as if uncertain.

I raised my eyes to his. She seemed relaxed and open, which is not the way he normally is. And right then and there, something clicked in my mind — I wasn’t simply satisfied.

I wasn’t just comfortable with him. It was such a splendid and wonderful feeling, and I seemed to have fallen quite deeply in love, at least emotionally and mentally, and definitely not physically.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I am. ”

He sighed softly and drew me in closer, planting a kiss on the top of my head. “Good,”

he murmured. “Because I am too.”

And so we did — bundled up in heat and the unalloyed happiness of proximity for the best part of an hour. The walls of the room seemed to dissolve away, and all I heard were our breaths and the heartbeat under my left cheek. No words were spoken. No need to justify. The bond between us was tangible, woven into every gesture, each shared smile, every moment of silence.

Well, the movie finally ended, but we didn’t move. Leo just rested his chin on the top of my head and tucked the blanket tighter around us. I shut my eyes and sank farther inside him, letting the moment hold me as a hug from whence I should hide.

This—these still, small moments—was the beginning, really, of love. It’s not the towering feats or sweeping declarations but the small, everyday acts that say: I’m here. I’m choosing you. I want to do this with you.

And as I lay on Leo’s chest, I knew one absolute truth as I faded into the gentle waves of sleep.

The simple glorious pleasures of life… were all there was.