“My son’s name is Christian. He’s seven, and he's sweet as pie. Where he got his sweetness, I’m not sure. His father is kind of an ass, if I’m honest.”

“Is he around?” he asks. Of course that’d be the first question which would come to his mind.

“Nope. He’s out west, horse ranching or something. He’s completely out of the picture. It’s just me and Christian.”

“I don't understand that,” Colton says. “If I had a son, he would be my everything. I don't understand how a father can turn his back on his own kid.”

“I don't either.”

We fall into silence. He strokes my thigh, and it feels so nice. I’m peaceful, sitting next to him, like a small child might feel cuddling with his mother. My lids get heavy and my thoughts fade into the white candy room. I’m fading fast, and I don’t want to leave this conversation, but I am so very tired.

Before long, despite my best intentions, I fade into the night, blissful.