After I answer her next question, I pick up the can of whipped cream and stand up. “Come here.” She wastes no time standing from her seat on the blanket and planting her feet in front of me. I instruct her to spin around and move her hair and then I spray a line of whipped cream down her back. On my knees, I use her waist to pull myself up as I lick a fine line up her spine. I spin her around and swoop her legs from under her so she’s in my arms and then I carry her back to the blanket and sit directly next to her.

“Can you tell me about Dante?” I ask.

Her face is laced with regret. “He didn’t do it,” she rushes out. “We dated when I first moved to Portland. We met at a charity event and we clicked immediately, but I wasn’t looking for any type of relationship so I turned him down when he asked. But he just kept…trying. He was sweet, a little cocky, but a man of his word. And he wanted me. I was so messed-up over you, it took me so long to pull my shit together. I still wasn’t together when he came along, but he thought I was worth the wait. I wasn’t.”

She rubs her chest, soothing the ache she must feel there. Without thinking, I reach forward and grab her by the hips, pulling her until she’s straddling my waist with her legs stretched out behind my back, and I hold her. I tuck her head against my chest and just let her be. Even though we’re both half naked and she’s still sticky from the honey, there’s nothing sexual about this moment. This is just me trying to absorb some of her pain and make it my own.

When I hear her soft but sharp intakes of air, I speak up. “Let it out, love. You’ve been holding this too long. I can help you carry it. Let me carry it.”

She sniffs and lifts her head to wipe her tears before meeting my eyes. “Fuck, that was literally the point of this game so I wouldn’t do this.”