I nodded. “I had to let him go too. He needed my parents still.”

“Oh, Drew. I’m sorry.”

She rested her head on my shoulder, and I leaned on her, physically and emotionally.

We stayed like that for too long (my neck started to cramp) yet not long enough. But I couldn’t bring myself to break it up first, so we came apart only after she started to stir.

“If you’re willing,” she said, “I’d love to see your work sometime.”

I hesitated out of instinct (and maybe still out of fear). Even if you say yes now, it doesn’t mean you have to, I rationalized. What a perfect baby step, said another part of my brain. She’ll hate it, said the awful you-know-who part.

“That’d be nice,” I said, my voice cracking. Those words in themselves were a step forward. I said them and didn’t die. But even more of a step? I felt panic, yes, but there was also some excitement there. Hope.

It was all too new and overwhelming, so I covered it up by gesturing to the bowls on the table and making a joke. “The wontons might be as cold as when we first got them.”

She laughed. We packed up the leftovers and started on the dishes.

“Ready to witness my exceptional dish-washing technique?” I grabbed a fork and held it in the air.

She handed me the sponge and after a few flourishes (C.2–style) and even a jazz hand, I proceeded to pat the fork exactly as I had back at Thanksgiving.

She burst into laughter. “Very funny,” she said sarcastically.

“Yes, obviously, since you’re laughing right now.”

She shoved my arm lightly, and I realized too late that she was pushing me out of the way so she could grab the dish soap. In one swift movement, it was in her hands and aimed at me.

“Aha!” she declared playfully.

Unlike at Thanksgiving, this time I didn’t hesitate and lunged for her, grabbing her around the waist and ducking behind her so I was shielded from the weapon.

Between laughs, she squirted a few bubbles in the air before giving up and putting down the soap.

When I poked her side, her face lit up. Then her gaze dipped to my lips.

God help me.

With my arms still wrapped around her waist, she turned to face me. Her nose was millimeters from mine.

Our eyes met and it felt like we had an entire conversation without words.

She closed the tiny distance between us.

Our lips became one. Our breath became one.

It was too good. A perfect fit. Effortless yet passionate, another conversation without words.

Worried she would think this was because of my job and not us, I pulled back and said, “Just for the record, in case you were wondering, I don’t have any training in kissing—”