“Do you talk about her with them?”

“Oh,” he says so softly that I see the word form on his lips more than I actually hear it. “I don’t really talk about her with anyone.”

“I know,” I tell him, guiding his head back down to my shoulder. “And you have the right to deal with your grief in whatever way works best for you. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I only wanted you to consider their perspective, because that might help your relationship with them.”

“No, I appreciate it. Really.” He turns slightly so he can bury his forehead in my shirt. “But I don’t want to bring down the date night mood. So let’s change the subject now, and I can process all this later when I’m alone.”

I subtly sniff his hair. “Deal. Just so you know though, you don’t need to do it alone.”

He sighs and burrows into me a little more.

I hope he understands the part I didn’t say. That I’ll always be here for him if he needs me.

The waiter comes back a few moments later to box up our leftovers and ask about dessert. Regretfully, this prompts Brenden to move away from me. But I get it. No server likes standing awkwardly at a table while a couple is being all cuddly.

“You pick what you want for dessert,” I tell him. “I’ll only have a bite of whatever you get.”

“Like hell you will,” he says. Then to the waiter, “I’ll have the crème brûlée, and he’ll have the raspberry cheesecake.”

I laugh softly at that. Why do I have a sneaking suspicion that he plans to eat both?

Once we’re alone again, I return my arm to where I want it. I don’t know when I became this person, feeling the need to hold someone, even in public, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He leans easily into me, running a finger over the line of buttons on my shirt. “You look really good in this.”

“Had to dig through my closet to find something appropriate to wear,” I confess.

“Believe me, I appreciate the lumberjack look a whole lot, but this just proves you’d look good in anything.”

“You look amazing,” I say. But he always does.

He leans in to kiss me, taking me by surprise. It’s only a brief press before he pulls away, but I chase him, capturing his lips again for a few more sweet moments. He has a smile on his face as the kiss ends, but it fades as he glances nervously past me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “No, no, you didn’t. That was really nice. Um. I just thought you might be worried about doing it here. I’m sure it already looked like we’re on a date, but that makes it kind of impossible to deny.”

Oh. Maybe I should be worried about that. But I’m not.