“The waffle is for you.With your fresh fruit and whipped cream?You’ll love it.”
Inside I waged a war between my fear of fat-shaming and my own better judgment.
“Harley.”
My eyes snapped up to his.
He picked my hand up off the table and brought it to his mouth.
I melted.
If I was good enough for him, I was good enough for anybody.
Even me.
“Better,” he grumbled.
That waffle became my go-to order for breakfast.
I’d spoken to his mom and John on Facetime several times and I learned from whom Daire inherited his innate kindness.
His nurturing heart.
“I wish I could have met your dad,” I mused one night.Cuddled naked into his side, my head on his chest, his long arm curved around my shoulders, my heart, neither stone nor glass, beat contentedly.I traced circles over his chest.“What was he like?”
“Fun,” he replied immediately.“He made everything fun.”He was quiet, his hands stroking my hair back from my face lazily.
“What was his name?”
“Same as mine.Cameron.”
“Uh, I thought your name was Daire.”
“Daire is my middle name.Mom wanted to name me after Dad.He wanted me to have my own name.They compromised by making Cameron my first name but using my middle name.”
“Cameron,” I repeated then sighed.“It’s hard to go on when you lose someone so important.”
“Losing him sucked all the fun out of my life for a long time.”
“Doing that kindergarten co-op brought your fun back.”
“Mm,” he hummed.“It was good for me.”
“You like your job,” I stated.
“I love my job.I make fun for kids all day long.”
“Can I visit you at work one day?”
His muscles jerked as he pulled me closer.“I’d love for you to visit me at work.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”He pressed his cheek to the top of my head.“Any afternoon after lunch.Just check in at the office and they’ll send you my way.”
That open invitation warmed me.“Anytime?Really?”
“Why don’t you come tomorrow?”
