“Every single night. My brothers and I would clear the table, do the dishes, and Dad would pull Mom into the living room, turn up the music, and dance with her.” Mallory’s eyes sparkled, a smile tugging at the right side of her mouth. “That’s so romantic.” “Dad always was,” I said, laughing a little. “He always taught us to be vulnerable, to be emotional, to share what we were feeling even if we felt ashamed or embarrassed. And he taught us how to respect a woman, how to care for her, make her feel good.” I swallowed, searching her eyes. “Make her feel loved.”
