Not a single part of me he doesn’t like?

There’s no way he means that the way I want him to, right? I’ve tried to pretend I haven’t been falling for him these last few weeks, because I never imagined he could fall for me too. Except now we’re alone, no one to put on a show for, and I’m a terribly unsexy, tear-stained mess. And he’s looking at me like he’d move mountains just to be in this room with me.

So I don’t question it. I watch him take off his own clothes, then I get into bed when he pulls down the covers for me. Instead of going around to the other side, he gets in right behind me, nudging me forward enough to make room for himself.

But he doesn’t let me go far. He’s the perfect big spoon, molding his slightly larger body around me, one arm slung over my waist and securing me tightly against him.

“You’ve been holding all that stuff in for a long time, haven’t you?” he asks, his lips tickling the back of my neck.

“What stuff?”

“About April.”

My body tenses. He’s not wrong though. And with the way I completely fell apart, trying to deny it would be stupid. “I don’t talk about her, but I think about her every day. I just never wanted May to find out how sad I am inside. I mean, I’m happy too, don’t get me wrong. I love my life, but I’ll always miss the people I’ve lost.”

The arm around my waist squeezes me comfortingly. “It’s okay to be sad sometimes, you know. Do you want your daughter to think she has to hold in any negative emotions? Or do you want her to be able to talk to you when she’s sad?”

“Of course I want her to be able to talk to me,” I say, as his words sink in and I realize he’s right. I want May to have healthy coping mechanisms.

He places a kiss at my nape. “So you should be able to talk to her too. Being a dad doesn’t make you any less human.”

I hum in agreement, feeling foolish that it took me this long to understand that. And maybe it’s weird that someone who’s not a parent, and claims not to even like children, is the one who helped me get here. But maybe not.

Travis might not talk a lot, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t listening, that he doesn’t understand. I’m beginning to think he understands me better than anyone else could, because he pays attention so well.

As we lie here naked together, warm skin to warm skin, the idea of initiating something sexual occurs to me, but I let it pass. Sex with Travis is fantastic. But somehow this form of intimacy is even better. It’s friendship and understanding and contentment and stability and fulfillment. It’s everything all at once.