But it was the next time I would get it about his boys’ good behavior. Because we didn’t meet for Beau Jo’s for pizza. I brought cupcakes and Brock cooked spaghetti at his old pad, where we were going to eat dinner and watch a movie. But I was at his place when they got there in late afternoon and didn’t leave until they were in their twin beds in Brock’s second bedroom.

Spending more time with them, I noted on arrival they seemed wound up and when I say this I mean tight. Jumpy. Hyperattentive. Anxious. And Rex once actually looked fearful and this was when he spilled his glass of pop on the coffee table. His wide, terrified eyes shot to his father. His face paled right under my gaze and his body grew visibly solid.

I also saw this make Brock’s mouth get tight. Not because of the spill but because of his son’s reaction to doing it. He quickly hid his reaction and cautiously and gently dealt with the spill while assuring his son (who, with effort, allowed himself to be assured but clearly didn’t commit to it) that it was in no way a big deal.

It didn’t take a child psychologist to see, if Rex spilled pop at his mom’s, the reaction he got from his dad was not even close to what he’d get at his mother’s.

I had never been with a man with children and I decided to bide my time and let Brock discuss it with me when and if he wanted. This was not a game. This was me giving my man space. We were still getting to know each other and he didn’t need me nosing into his business with his boys and his ex.

So I didn’t.

But this weekend Brock decided would be different. He talked to me about it, asked me if I was comfortable with it. I wasn’t (exactly) and told him so. But also told him I’d give it a shot.

So Friday night was his with his boys. So was Saturday. But Saturday night, I came over and made (at Brock’s request, since he wolfed down three-quarters of it when I made it for him) my Mexican tortilla casserole (though, obviously, since Brock liked it so much, I doubled it). This was followed by hot fudge sundaes with my homemade hot fudge sauce.

After, I spent the night.

It was a compliment when the boys dug into my food with the same relish as their father.

And it was a relief when they took my spending the night in stride.