As Warren talks, I put my tea down on the side table and go to my knees on the floor in front of him. I shuffle closer until my arms are wrapped around his shoulders and my forehead is pressed into the side of his neck. He took the day off work for us. Warren places his mug behind him, then wraps both arms around my waist. I twist, and with a small look of permission, sit across his lap. I curl myself into him. I cry. He holds.
