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“I don’t mind earning it,” I say, catching Rhys’s gaze again.
He huffs out a laugh. “Good.”
“She just doesn’t want to worry you, but I can talk to her about it.”
His eyebrows rise, almost like he’s considering it, but then he waves it off. “No, no. She’ll come around. I’m glad, uh, I’m glad she has somebody she’s sharing things with, even if it’s not me.”
His words warm my chest. I’m her person. I try to lighten the mood. “Did she tell you about skydiving?” It’s a risky one.
“Yes,” he groans, cutting his eyes at me. “I would have talked her out of it.”
I smirk into the glass before taking a sip. “She would have done it anyway.” As soon as she talked herself into it, that is.
He chuckles. “You’re probably right.”
A silence settles between us; it’s not uncomfortable, but I should take the opportunity. I lean forward, rolling the glass between my palms. “Anna is wonderful,” I begin. “She’s strong in many ways people don’t always see or give her credit for—namely herself. She’s brave—and determined as hell. And stubborn.”
I briefly glance up at Rhys; his jaw is a little tight, but other than that, he’s open to what I have to say.
“It’s totally understandable for you to worry, but I want you to know that I would never let anything happen to her. She’s doing really well, and I’d never do anything to jeopardize how far she’s come. I’m not just passing through her life. I love Anna. I’m in this with her—however long that takes and for as long as she’ll have me.”
“You love her?”
I nod.
“Does she love you?”
There’s no wiping the grin off my face when I play the memory of that night at my house. “Yeah.”
The corner of his mouth tilts up. “I’m happy for you both . . . She seems different with you. I trust her judgment, you must be good for her.”
“I hope so. She deserves it.”
Dinner is relaxed; the meal drifts lazily, there’s no rush or hurry to pile plates full of food before someone else takes it all. Bites are savored while captivated in good conversation. There’s no crowd or overlapping conversations, just the four of us in their home. It’s simple and easy.
Rhys and Micky sit across from Anna and me. Her foot is tucked around the leg of my chair like our contact is the most natural thing in the world. And it is.
We sit around the table, sharing stories and laughing. Eventually Anna steps away, returning with a pie. “All right. Nobody ruin this moment . . .” She sets it on the table. “Look how pretty she is.”
We ooh and ahh over her work. She baked a beautiful pumpkin pie. It smells even better. She sits at my side and my palm absently rests on her thigh as she leans forward to cut a slice. “This much?” she asks, glancing back at me.
“Yeah.” I grin, moving my hand to her back while she dishes out a serving for everyone.
When she sits back down, she scoots her chair a little closer and tucks into my side. I’m comfortable here. The food, the jokes, even the way Rhys and I fall into an easy rhythm of shit-talking comes with a sense of inclusion. I don’t have an exit plan running in the back of my head or an itch to get to the next thing. I can exist in this moment and enjoy the way it unfolds.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like a guest at someone else’s table. I have a place here.
And damn, Anna sure does make a mean pumpkin pie. Silky, not dense. Sweet, but not cloying. It’s fucking delicious.
“Swear to God, man, if you take that last slice I will physically remove you from my home,” Rhys says to me.
“I’m taller than you,” I remind him, reaching for it. “By about half a foot.”
“You’re lean. I play a contact sport.”
“I play a different kind of contact sport.”
Anna nearly chokes on her drink and I glimpse at her just long enough to see the rosy hue fill her cheeks. Her elbow nonchalantly bumps my ribs.
