I selfishly soaked up the comfort his hold offered. The warmth. The calm. The safety.

Once the typhoon of thoughts subsided, I finally spoke. “I didn’t see you tonight.”

Wow. Good thing I told him. Otherwise, how would he have known that he didn’t come over?

I’m a genius.

That super-smooth sentence wasn’t what I’d meant to say.

I’d wanted to tell him how much I enjoyed our dinners, not just because of the delicious yet healthy food he cooked or ordered.

How much I enjoyed his company, even though he talked too much during our show.

How I looked forward to both, and when he hadn’t shown up for the first time in two weeks, I’d been disappointed. Worried.

And how much I’d missed him.

But even as physically exhausted and emotionally raw as I was, my words were carefully measured.

Old habits…

“Trust me, I wasn’t fuckin’ happy about it,” he said. When I tried to shift my feet away from the fire, he put them back and continued. “Shit came up that I had to deal with.”

He wasn’t happy.

Does that mean he missed me, too?

“Did you…” I started before trailing off.

“Did I what?”

Again, I chickened out. I was a coward. “Did you deal with it?”

“Yeah, but it took too fuckin’ long. I was gonna swing by, but by the time I got home, your lights were off.”

“I went to bed early.” I tried to move my feet again, but he kept them in place.

“Guess it worked out,” he said, misconstruing my words.

I could’ve left it, but I scraped together enough nerve to amend, “When you didn’t come over, I figured I might as well go to bed.”

I worried I was still being a coward, my meaning too vague.

But the way his hold tightened showed me he got it without me having to say any more.

Which was good. I’d already said too much.

I tried yet again to inch my feet from the fire, but he held me firm.

Before I could question him, he asked, “Nightmare?”

I looked at him and inhaled sharply.

With my face turned up and his aimed down, we were close. I could feel his warm breath fan across my face. Smell the hint of smokiness. See the way his gaze dropped to my mouth as his body tensed around me.

“Memory,” I answered softly, my tongue darting out to moisten the Sahara Desert that was my lips. “But yeah. Nightmare.”

“Feel better?” he rumbled, still watching my mouth.

I did. Thanks to attentive dinners, companionship, and easy laughter, I felt better than I had in a while. Better than I’d ever expected to feel again.

At least not for many, many, many years.