“That’s dumb. Just sit on the bed,” he replies, pushing up on his elbows to try and look at me through the dark. “You’re on the bed.” “It’s a queen-sized bed, Tess. There’s room for both of us. What if I promise to keep my hands to myself?” “Do I have to promise the same?” I don’t even know what made me say it. The banter just pops out around him. The same thing happened at the wedding. It’s like each time we meet, he gets more comfortable in his own skin, more comfortable with me too.
