He just shook his head and smiled at me while eying my own bare chest over those glasses that made him look even more delicious than normal. “You’re a mess.”

“Yeah, but I’m your mess.” That got me another sweet smile.

“Yes, you are.” Those happened a lot lately. Patrice Denis had sweet smiles and now I got to see them all the time. My heart literally skipped as I hurried to finish up so I could get in bed with him.

We’d come back from the gym and were now in the “before bed routine.” We had that now. The last six months had been a remaking of us, together and individually. We’d worked hard on finding ways to be there for each other as we decided who we would be together.

I loved where we’d arrived, even if this new chapter of Patrice and I involved couples therapy, with homework.

“I’ll get into bed in a sec, babe, I’m ready to work.” I made a show of taking my towel off and sliding on a pair of boxers as he gave me an amused look.

“Are you going to be serious? We have to focus.” Patrice grumbled, as I fidgeted on the bed, arranging myself as close to him as possible while still giving him enough room to write in the notebook he had on his lap.

“I am, I swear, I am just advocating that we figure out a ‘strip poker’ version.” I wasn’t whining so much as being bratty enough to get him riled into messing around with me. When he turned to look at me, he scoffed just as he tugged me so that I was sitting between his legs, my back pressed to his chest.

“Here,” he said, placing the notebook, pen and sheet from our therapist in my hands. He pressed his lips to my temple as he pointed at the paper. The heat of him made it hard for me to think. Because after almost a year since we started again, and countless nights of getting as much of him as I wanted, being close to him, still made me breathless.

He cleared his throat, commanding my attention, and ran a finger over the paper I was holding. “Today we’re supposed to think about shared qualities.” The way he said it, like the fact that we could even do this, was a blessing, made my chest tighten. I looked up and found him looking down at me with what I assume was the same lovesick expression on my own face.

I spoke with my lips pressed to his. “I’m so grateful we get to do this.” I didn’t have to tell him what I meant—that we’d been able to make this work, to makes us work.