“Can I?” he asks, pointing toward my legs. “Of course.” I wait to see if he wants me to scoot over to make room for him, and huff a soft laugh when he nudges my legs apart so he can sit between them. When his back hits my chest, I grunt at the weight of him. He shimmies his hips as though settling in. “Perfect,” he tells me. I put my arm around him, sliding a hand onto his stomach and leaning my cheek against the side of his head. He’s correct. This is perfect.
