It feels so good. Like this is where he’s supposed to be.

This is where I’m supposed to be.

I’m tempted to scoot closer, close enough that I could curl into his side, but if I did, where would that lead? What would he think? I like this guy so much and that freaks me out because I’ve never liked someone the way I like him. I’ve never found myself daydreaming about a guy before, or wishing that he would move in closer, or that he would lean over and press his lips to mine. Sure, I’ve kissed my fair share of guys. I’m not a kissing virgin. But this feels more like a need for him to kiss me. And I’ve never known that. Never wanted that.

And that’s concerning because like I told him before, I don’t think I’m mentally fit to have a relationship. I don’t think I have it in me to be the kind of partner he probably needs.

“What’s going on in that head?” he asks. “You went from smiling to worried.”

I glance up, unaware that I was showing so much expression on my face. Of course he’d notice; he’s a very observant man. “Uhhh, nothing,” I lie.

“I see.” He shifts. “I think you and I both know that’s not the truth. But I could take this conversation two ways. I can either call you out on your bullshit answer and determine what just made your brow furrow, or I can respect your privacy and decide to skip over the momentary lapse in your beautiful smile. I’m good either way, I just need you to let me know what direction you want me to take this.”

Who is this man?

He speaks his truth so effortlessly.

He doesn’t play mind games.

He doesn’t hide from the hard.

He just lays it all out on the table, and in all my years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. Definitely not from watching my parents’ relationship. The closest person that I’ve seen so effortlessly truthful is Nichole. But even then, she hides things from me from time to time—like when she was diagnosed with breast cancer a few months ago. I only found out because she had to list me as a medical emergency contact before her surgery. Her reason for not telling me? She didn’t want to worry me.

So excuse me while I blink a few times, trying to understand where this man comes from.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yes, sorry. I’m just trying to process how honest you are. Not sure I’ve ever met someone like you.”

“I’m just trying to be open with you, Myla.” His eyes connect with mine, and his arm draped on the couch falls between us. His fingers tangle with mine until our palms are connected. His hands are rough, calloused, and worn. They look far too old for his young body, but they’re large, thick, and sexy. “You told me you have baggage. I’m attempting to show you that you can trust me with that. I’m not here to play games. I’m not here to coax you into bed for one fucking hot night. I’m here because I like you, I want to get to know you more, and maybe, if you’re ready one day, you’ll let me take you out on a date, but I want to go at your pace. So yeah, I’m giving you the option on how to approach the somber mood you just fell into. I don’t want to push you or make you uncomfortable. I want you to know that when you’re around me, with me, you can rest on my shoulder, on my strength, on my courage, and any burden you might be carrying, I’ll help you carry it as well.”