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Gatlinburg, Tennessee – Mountaintop Chateau
Trev
9 weeks old
S
he walks into the room and I can’t help but stare at her. The beauty and grace that she epitomizes has my tuxedo pants becoming painfully uncomfortable. I can’t help but take in all that Zoie Watson is standing in the lighting she is standing in. She looks other worldly, mesmerizing; like a living, breathing work of art. Her hair isn’t in a bun or in those braids she likes to wear. It’s been straightened ... no, flat-ironed then curled. I believe she said, “bumped then curled.” All of the curls are pulled to one side of her head.
I asked her once why she always has her hair falling to one side of her head when she wears it outside of a ponytail. Her response had me grinning like an idiot for days.
“It’s because you always come up and put your nose right at the collarbone area here before kissing my shoulder. I love it when you do that. It’s something that let’s me know you are you and still interested. Why would I have my hair impeding something I enjoy just as much as you do when you execute it? It makes me and has always made me feel as if I’m yours and yours alone. You used to be subtle about the ‘sniff’ to my collar before we became an us. I used to get chills whenever you would enter the room. The hairs ...”
“The hairs on your arm would stand like a form of alarm system.”
She nods then smiles when I walk over and sniff her collarbone.
“I thought doing this would seem weird to you.”
“On the contrarty, mon frere. It sooths, yet ignites this primal urge within me. it’s like you’re scenthing me or something. I’m embedded in the memory of your senses as you are etched in mine.”
“It’s like that for me. I love it when you bury your head in my chest.”
“Exactly. I love the smell of your skin.”
“I know what you mean. It is a beautiful scent. Your skin, not mine.”
