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“My dad used to buy my mom flowers whenever she had a hard day. Even if there was already a bouquet in the kitchen, he’d show up with more.” He pauses, the silence thick, then continues. “In the end, her whole hospital room was covered in vases. I think he hoped the flowers would bring him some miracle.” The tattoo on his leg makes so much sense now. It’s not random artwork or a drunken mistake he’ll regret five years down the road. They’re parts of his mom he carries with him, and to know he’s treating me like his dad treated her makes me feel lucky. Like I’m one in seven billion.
“Did I do something to make you think you’re not my friend?” “No.” Slowly, hesitantly, she looks back at me. Her eyes are wide with a scorch of heat behind the brown. “When you call us friends, it makes the things I’m thinking about you—the things I’m feeling for you—seem wrong.” I don’t know what’s going on. I might be dreaming. “What kind of things are you thinking about?” “Kissing you.” Madeline grabs my shirt like she did on New Year’s Eve. She wraps her fingers in the cotton, cementing herself to me. “Doing more than that.”
“I’m not kissing you unless you tell me to, Madeline. And if I do, it’s not going to be a one-time, casual thing. It’s not going to be a two-time thing. It’s going to mean something, just like it did on New Year’s, because I’m done pretending like I haven’t thought about that night every single day that’s passed. I have. Excessively. But I don’t act on it because I don’t want you to hide from me again. I don’t want to mess this up. You mean too much to me.”
My phone lights up on the arm of the couch. I bite my bottom lip to hold back a grin when I spy Hudson’s name. I tap the screen, and a selfie of him and Lucy pops up. They’re both smiling at the camera. There are clips in his hair and a smudge of lipstick on his cheek. He’s holding up bunny ears behind her head, and she’s poking his side. It looks like they’re mid-laugh, having the time of their lives, and then a message comes through.
Hudson keeps his eyes on mine when I’m naked from the waist up. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t try to sneak a glance at my chest. I notice how red his cheeks are when I take a step back. How he’s standing perfectly still, afraid to move, and the way he swallows when I smile.
“I saw some people online talking about how they teach their kids baby sign language even if they aren’t deaf, as a way to communicate. I think I’d like to do that with our kid if Em and I become parents.” He pauses, glancing at me. “This is a cool thing you’re doing, man. I’m proud of you.”

