fiction....?

She closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair. That spot, just behind her ear, not quite the back of her head. His fingers felt rough, working man's hands. His touch was always firm, decisive, never hesitant but just gentle enough. She sighed, almost a purr, wondering why this man, who - let's be honest - she didn't know that well, could somehow always make her feel relaxed and...loved? Did he really make her feel that or was it just wishful thinking? Safe. Maybe that was it, he made her feel safe.

She thought about it again, later, after they'd said goodbye for the night; after he'd kissed her. He surprised her with that kiss. She found herself thinking about him as she settled into bed, head still spinning from one too many beers and the whirlwind of the night's activities. She realized there had almost always been a man like him in her life. The one who made her feel safe. The one who touched her in that way, comforted her, but who wasn't quite a part of her world of artists with soft hands.

She realized how strange it was that she never let any of those men in; never embraced that feeling of safety; never allowed them any closer. The only calluses on the men she allowed to truly touch her were on their finger tips and on their hearts. Funny how she discounted those men who's hands were rough but who's hearts were open... maybe she didn't want to feel safe?

But he surprised her. That hadn't happened before with the safe ones... rarely did anything unpredictable happen with them.

But he surprised her.