I'm sure anyone who saw me taking the stairs two at a time would look at me and think ‘booty call' I really couldn't blame them. It was three o'clock in the morning and I was wearing my favorite knee high boots, a short skirt, and a tank top with sequins sewn around the open v-neckline. I looked like I'd just stepped out of the bar, which I had twenty minutes ago. Add to the fact that I was knocking on the door of an eligible bachelor of whom I was not dating or living with and yeah, this looked like a booty call.

I knew where the spare key was but I knocked instead. Scott understood the statement behind my refusal to use his key but we'd yet to actually argue about it. By the time I've knocked two sound good raps, the door opened and the very awake owner of said apartment was on the other side. Though the night was cool, he wore only a pair of sky blue boxers. Ignoring the way my mind pulled to the way his happy trail disappeared into said boxers, I said hello as I breezed in by him.

As one of the few people unaffected by my cool demeanor, he didn't take the detached greeting personally.  "Hello to you Haven Marie." The door closed behind me as an offer of food was made. Though I know the man is capable of amazing hangover curbing culinary delights, I shake my head no. Again Scott wasn't phased by my choice. Taking my hand, he reached to turn off the signal that he was up. With the hallway light extinguished the dim rays spilling out the open bedroom door calls to us.

I know the room so well it's like home. Cherry wood furniture, all matching and distinctly masculine with its classic lines. The fabrics on the bed and covering the window are slate gray with black pinstripes. I'm unsure if it matches, but it is Scott's style. His firm belief that everything has a place and that all should be in place dictates that no clothes, lint, television, or any other signs that a man lives there be out where they can be seen.

I sit on the edge of the bed and watch as Scott lowers his body to the carpet. Settled on his knees in front of me, he finds the zipper on my left boot and draws it down. I'm a little startled by how comfortable and turned on I am at seeing that familiar blond head between my knees. After doing the same with the right boot, he removed both of them and set them aside. When he looked up at me, I thanked him. Instead of smiling, he gave me a sad tug at the lips and asked if I wanted to take a bath or a shower.

Responding that a shower sounded like a great idea, I started to get back off the bed, but he stopped me. As he stands he tells me that he'll call me when it was ready, I watched as he retreats. I actually watched his perfect bum retreat into the other room and berated myself for checking it out, but no difference.

Falling back onto the mattress, I listen to sounds of Scott in the bathroom. Whenever I was at the bar or out with my girlfriends wondering about why I was there, I would always remind myself what would come afterwards. I would come here to Scott's and be taken care of. He'd feed me, give me a chance to bath, lend me a shirt and most importantly lie there beside me, completely understanding something I barely get myself.

I used to go home and spend hours in bed trying to recover from going out with my friends feeling hopeless and alone. That one night of sleeping beside Scott changed that. By the time that night bled into the next day I knew it would happen again. I wanted it to happen again and again; the more it does, the more perfect it seems. That is big and scary for me.

JJ finds it hard to believe that when I go over to Scott's it's not some sex thing. She thinks we're having some torrid affair that I won't admit to. I've told her that in the six months that we've been doing this, he and I haven't had sex. I know that's crazy because he and I are two young sexual beings but Scott had never made any blatantly sexual advances towards me. No, that's not entirely true. When we first met, he was flirtatious with me.  Nevertheless, in my experience when men look like Scott do, flirting is second nature to them.

Yet for a while there, I was sure he was going to make the first move and I shyly waited for something to happen, too afraid to approach him like so many of the girls did whenever he went out places. I guess I was right not to say anything because after a month or two of us hanging out, the flirting with me tapered off. My disappointment in that fact is something I hadn't even told JJ about. I wanted Scott but I refused to be the person who ruined our friendship if he didn't want me. And it wasn't as if his friendship is something to be considered a consolation prize.

I mean this is a man who listened to me whine, laughed at my sarcastic jokes, and participated in these sleepovers without making me once feel like I was weird or needy to want to come home to someone every once in a while.

The sleepovers evolved from an unexpected sleepover during the final snow squall of the season. I'd been out at a club with friends but during the ride home, the intensity of the snow increased. Scott's place was closer than mine and realizing that I wouldn't make it to my own home, I called Scott and he urged me to come over. When I got there, he was waiting for me with a hot toddy and warm bath. I'd been startled by his actions but touched by his consideration. After consuming the warm drink and soaking in the water, I emerged with a calm I hadn't had in years.

That night Scott fed and entertained me until we both fell asleep on his couch while watching a movie. I awoke as Scott began to cover my body with the thick comforter. Appreciating the warmth of both the action and the blanket, I thanked him as he tucked me in. Telling me that I was welcome, he started to retreat from the room, but I stopped him knowing that he was going to return to the cool living room to sleep on his couch. It did not seem right to make him sleep anywhere else but his own bed just because he thought I might be uncomfortable with him.

Sitting up, I pulled back the covers on the other side of the king sized bed and promised that I wouldn't bite. Sniggering, Scott nodded in agreement and returned to the bed. Lying back down on my side, I pretended that I wasn't nervous as he prepared to join me in the bed. Funny thing is once he lowered his large frame down onto the bed several inches away from me, I wasn't nervous anymore. Relaxation rushed my system and soon after a final exchange of goodnights, I was asleep again.

That should have been my sign. I was the kid at summer camp that did not sleep for the first two days because I couldn't get comfortable in unfamiliar surroundings, and that first night I slept like the dead beside him. The next morning when my eyes opened I should have been panicked by the unfamiliar surroundings; instead I checked the clock on the night stand just as I would have at home and reasoned fifteen more minutes of sleep wouldn't harm me any. I slept another two hours before Scott's alarm went off and he talked me into sticking around for breakfast.

Seven hours later, I reluctantly left his apartment for my own, the salted and clear roads now visible from his apartment windows no longer enough of an excuse to allow me to stay.

That Saturday after that initial sleepover, Sam and I went out with a group of mutual friends for a birthday and we returned to his apartment afterwards with the excuse of a nightcap. I don't know how long I was there or who suggested it, but I wound up staying that night too. By the time the next month rolled around, we'd established this little routine of ours. Whenever I was out at night, I could call him and let him know I wanted to come by and each time I pulled into the blacktop lot of his apartment complex I knew that I could look up and the beacon of the hallway light would let me know he was there for me.

When Scott exited the bathroom, he announced that the shower was ready having played with the mercurial knobs that controlled the temperature until he found a reasonable setting for me. I hated to ask him to do it, but when I'd scalded myself badly enough to irate my skin, he'd completely taken over the task despite my hardiest of protests. He'd sounded so worried and genuine when he'd claimed that he couldn't take the guilt if I'd gotten hurt that I allowed him to take care of that detail without any further discussion about it. Truthfully, I love that he takes the time to adjust the water so that it's perfect for me. Between that and his cooking, he could ruin me for anyone else, but I don't let him know that because he might stop doing it and I'd have had to go without that secret ‘I feel like royalty' rush it gave me.

After drying my hair, I put the blow dryer away and tightened the robe around me. Opening the bedroom door, I found him sitting on the bed reading a book. There are times when I forget how intelligent he is, not for a lack of evidence. His good looks and body distract attention elsewhere but I should know better. His thirst for knowledge includes languages, the sciences, and economics. He is the only person I know who literally knows the price of beans in Brazil, the year radium was discovered, and can order Chinese food in Mandarin.

As if he knew I was standing there watching, he looked up at me and gave me a smile. Returning the gesture, I walked over to the bureau and opened the top drawer embarrassed that I'd been caught. The organization of the drawer was surprisingly comforting. I could have kept my eyes closed and reached in knowing exactly what I would pull out. The tees and boxers were folded arranged together by color, darks to lights. Extracting a black tee, I closed the drawer, and happened to look up into the mirror above the bureau, and catching his eye in the mirror. Even from across the room, I knew the exact smoky gray color of his eyes. There was intensity that I practically felt radiate from him at me.

If I was bolder, I would have dropped the robe and turned around to face him or said something clever. I certainly saw it clearly enough in my mind. However, the reality was that I'm the first to break the gaze and the one who withdrew to the bathroom. I clothe for bed avoiding the judgment and disappointment my reflection waits to throw back at me.

When I re-open the door, he was exactly in the same position as I left him the first time I'd walked out. Turning off the bathroom light, I made my way across the carpet with my attention on my chipped toenail polish. My large purse/ overnight bag were on the floor by the armchair in the corner and I went over to it to deposit my clothes into it. Bending I rooted around in the bag for a comb, but when none came up, I straightened suddenly and turned to Scott. The quick dart of his eyes and the quirky grin had me thinking for a second that he'd been staring at my ass, but I hesitated to say so aloud. Instead, I asked if I'd left a comb, and he directed me to look in the medicine cabinet. I threw one last curious glance in his direction before heading back into the bathroom and locating the comb.

I made quick work of combing my thick hair and struggled to pull it into a braid. Even with the effort it would be all over my head like a madwoman's, as it always tended to. Not that Scott would seem to notice. He looks at me the same way if I flounce in here where my hottest clubbing outfit or if it's first thing in the morning and I look like a truck hit me and dragged me for three miles. It was a little disheartening, but I had years of being the one not noticed, so I was used to it. At least that's what I told myself to curb the somber turn of my mood.

I cut off the light in the bathroom, paddled across the floor to return the comb to my bag, and finally pulled back the covers on the opposite side of the bed. As if he noticed the change of my mood, Scott asked was I okay when I got in beside him and I gave a quick reassurance to him before lying down. Settled into the bed on my side, I drew the covers up around me. Scott marked the page he was on in his book and then set it onto the night table. Cutting off the light, he lay down and moved around in an attempt to get settled. Finally he turned on his side to face me and with my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw the content look on his face.

Most times I'm very careful in what I say aloud, but before I could think, I spoke. "How come you let me come stay here with you?"

"Why do you come stay here with me?" Before I could counter that I'd asked first, he answered. "Because I want you here with me Hay."

The same fingers that turned the pages of his book drew up, tracing my face with a familiarity that unsettled me. He has to know better than to want me. "I'm cold."

He moved closer and I thought that he'd taken my words to mean that I've caught a chill despite the thick comforter that blanketed the two of us. "Not to me."

I don't know why but those three little words made tears form in my eyes. For two people who constantly seemed to have something to say to each other, we lay there together for quite some time without a word said. So long that I began to get nervous that maybe he hadn't understood what I'd been trying to say. My mind turned to how warm he was as our bodies shifted to find comfort together. I felt Scott rooting around in the covers but only when he secured my hand in his did I know what he'd been trying to do. Our hands locked together, he drew them up and placed a kiss on the back of my hand.

I reassured myself that it was too dark for him to see the effect that he had on me, but as the first tear started a diagonal path down my face, a callused thumb stretched to cut it's path. With a groan that almost sounded painful, he swiped more of the water as it continued down my face and moved to pull me into his arms. "Don't cry my Haven."

Even though my heart just about stopped at his admission, I was still tempted to reserve the feelings I had for him even longer. Then in the dark I decided to the safest thing I could think to do wasn't going to be done. "I want to be here. With you. You're my haven."