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“Um, yeah. Don’t pretend you didn’t know that.” Saint crosses his arms over his chest and pouts at me. And I did know it.
I’ve known it from the way he takes care of me in practical ways. The times he’s tucked me into his bed after I fell asleep with his mouth on me. When he made me cider and offered me and my son rides on icy roads. When he invited me to share his holiday traditions with the man he still loves in an entirely different capacity.
“I did. I didn’t expect you to say it aloud.” That’s the truth too. And I don’t need him to say it to feel his love down to the core of me. But it’s really fucking nice to hear.
“Well, it’s not ‘in love’ but I do love you, Angel. You’re one of my closest friends, so I’ve loved you for a while now.” He repeats the words that curl up inside me, just as warm and welcoming as his delicious cider. When he puts it like that—the words simple and unadorned—love doesn’t scare me. How could it, when his love is in every caring gesture he makes toward me? His unprepossessing love is exactly what keeps drawing me back to him, week after week. I don’t want ‘in love’ with all the trappings. Saint is more than enough for me.
“I love you too,” I say. And because he probably needs to hear this part even more than the first part, I add, “Just the way you are.”
“Yeah?” He smiles at me, so full of hope as those smile lines I love crinkle around his eyes.
“Mhm. I love the ways you show you care. I don’t need flowers and sweet nothings when you’re sweet enough all on your own. That isn’t us. I get that Carl needs the big loud love like we saw between him and Nick earlier, and you’re used to that. But over-the-top declarations and extravagant gestures make me feel like the walls are closing in. I can’t handle feeling like either of us owes the other anything. There were always strings on everything with Trevor. I never knew where I stood and I always seemed to be behind on his balance sheets unless I did exactly what he wanted. I mean, I’ve told you what it was like toward the end. Always walking on eggshells. I can’t go back to living like that.”
“Never.” Saint cups my cheek. “I never want to be the one to make you feel like less or like you have to compromise any part of yourself.”
“I know. And if you give me enough time, I might be able to accept it even in the most jaded depths of my heart. I want the chance to build a life with you. If you can handle the fact that an irrational part of me might always worry about repeating past mistakes, no matter how different you are from him. It might take me time to trust inmyselfenough not to need an escape hatch.” I can’t quite meet his gaze.
Admitting this is scary when it might be too much for him, but I spent years learning not to trust my own judgment and it will take time to unlearn. We’ve already been doing this for over two years and it still took my kids pointing it out for me to fully realize how happy I am when I get to have time with Saint. Time to be fully myself and prioritize my own needs. I glance at his face and Saint gives me an encouraging little nod.
“That makes sense. I never want you to feel like you need an escape from me, but I always want you to have one if you ever do. It’s okay if you always need to have a clear way out to feel secure. We can figure out a way to make things work. As long as you are sure you don’t need the romantic stuff that I can’t give you. I’m not interested in changing who I am for a lover either.”
“I don’t want to change you. You are exactly what I need in a partner. Dependable and there for me when I need you. We make each other smile. That’s the first thing I fell for about you.” I reach out to trace his laugh lines, and he leans into my reverent touch. “We can compromise on a lot, but not who we are. I want you just the way you are, Mathieu. I want us to keep making each other smile for years to come.”
“Good.” He beams at me as he reaches for my hands. I tangle our fingers, needing to anchor myself in his touch. “Because I want to keep loving you for as long as it takes for you to trust in us.”
“Me too.” I nod, a little breathless and floaty at how well this is going. Almost like the afterglow of really good sex.
“So that leaves one thing.” Saint takes a deep breath, like whatever he has to say next scares him as much as promising any part of myself to a lover scares me. I hold my breath along with him. I squeeze his hand in mine, hoping I can give him the courage to take this leap into what a shared future might look like with me.
“If you’ll let me, I want to love your kids too. That’s why I’ve been pulling away the past few days. Since Owen interrogated me about our relationship, and I realized I’m already in deep with you. The idea of being in a position to break your heart is bad enough, but breaking a kid’s heart is terrifying. Fuck knows I am clueless about parently duties, but you make me want to try.”
“I want that too.” I nod. “Maybe someday they’ll see you as a father figure, if you want that. It’s okay if you don’t. They’re old enough to form their own relationships with my partner.”
“They are. And it would be an honor if they see me as their step-dad someday. As long as you are okay with it. I don’t want to overstep.”
“You aren’t. I’d like you three to get to know each other.” I let myself smile at the thought of them together.
It should be hard to give him that permission. The idea of exposing my kids to more heartbreak is scary. But I trust Saint not to put them through the same hot and cold hell of rejection they’ve been getting from Trevor for years. I might not trust myself to be able to make a relationship last, but Saint is too mature to take out even a messy breakup on my kids.
“You’re doing fine so far. They, uh, got you a gift. For Christmas.” I gesture toward where I left my bag by the door, grateful for a change of subject to steal a moment to breathe after what we just discussed.
Saint loves me and we are going to try making a future together. That doesn’t feel real yet. But my kids gave their tacit blessing with that gift and I want him to be as happy about that as I am.
“They did?” Saint looks at me with a mix of interest and, well, he looks like someone who just found out his squish likes him back. Hopeful. Delighted even. “What is it?”
I laugh and turn to fetch my bag. “I don’t know, but you can open it. It’s Christmas now.”
I wink at him and Saint follows me down his entry hall to the door, where I pull out the clumsily wrapped package and press it into his hands. “Here.”
Saint grins at me with all his charm and I don’t know how I got to be the one he smiles at like that, but I want to keep it. He turns the parcel in his hands and then plucks at the inexpertly applied tape until the first flap comes loose, unwrapping it with infuriating patience. I watch with bated breath, not sure what to expect.
Saint peels back the paper, still careful not to tear it, and I can tell from the backing that it’s a picture frame.
“Oh.” Saint glances between me and the photo, then presses it to his chest. “That Meg is sneaky.”
“Yeah? Is it okay?”
“It’s perfect.” Saint turns the frame to show a photograph of us. It’s a silly selfie he took of us in bed on one of Trevor’s weekends with the kids. Nothing inappropriate. We’re posed with my head resting on Saint’s shoulder. His arm is wrapped around me and his lips pressed to my temple as I smiled up at the camera, utterly content in his arms. He captured it the moment before I protested that my hair was a disaster, tangled from having his fingers twined in it while we fucked the night before. At least we weren’t naked under the covers, so there’s nothing untoward for the kids to have seen. And my hair looks pretty good spilling across Saint’s pillow.
