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Dane leads the way to the two over-plumped cream sofas in our TV lounge and heads to put the glasses on the center oak coffee table. In here, it’s comfy and peaceful and not that big a room, and as he swoops to turn on a channel, I know it’s in case anyone comes home and wonders why we are in here together. It’s not like we often hang out to watch a show together, if ever. He sets it to medium volume, just enough to cover our voices should we fail to hear anyone return, like Monique or my mom. And can confidently say this is all easily explainable should a surprise parent walk in.

“So….” he finally turns, watching how I slide down into the comfiness of stuffed seating and follows to sit beside me. The way we are turned has us knee to knee, yet it somehow feels closer.

“So…” the nervousness still lingers, and my hands get clammier, my chest heaving because this is making me weirdly antsy. It feels like we have reached the step off point to things getting real. “I guess we figure this