The cat imagery seems fitting to her, as well. If only he could purr. The thought keeps here lingering there, her face close to his but no longer touching. Carol relaxes into the pillow, content to just wait for nothing in particular.

There's a lot she could think about now, the experiences they shared and the ones she had to confess, things between them said and unspoken. None of it seems productive, none of it as relevant as the closeness of him and the way he trusts her, still. She never thought she'd have that trust again, even in herself.

It feels too good to be true, time-limited maybe, or it would if she thought about it. But she doesn't.