When they're lying in bed and he's fallen asleep, she finds herself exploring the terrain of his flesh. The curve of his ear, the fan of his lashes against his cheek, the way his fingers reach out for hers. Most often, she finds herself rediscovering his back.

He sleeps on his stomach, affording her ample opportunity. She lets her fingers do the walking, tracing paths like a mapmaker. She treats every freckle, every scar like a landmark. Every night, she creates a new journey on the broad, pale flesh.

She’s the cartographer of a map she never should have seen.