Page 52 of Friends to WHAT?!

He lies with Amia, cheeks wet but no longer crying, sprawled on his chest. His couch is deep enough that even with the breadth of his shoulders, they don’t seem cramped. Something about the position makes me think they’ve laid like this before, more than once. It’s comfortable and comforting, his large, strong hand on her back and his heartbeat beneath her ear.

Stars.

If my dad had ever been able to give me a moment like this, I would have never left him. If my dad had been a safe harbor on a dark night, I think I would’ve put up with anything to stay near him.

I’m not jealous of Amia. I’m happy for her, and my heart squishes at the knowledge that she gets to have this, a small piece of the everything that she deserves.

My squished heart also cracks a little, witnessing a piece of the everything that baby Leora never got to have.

The apartment beyond them, too, casts a bittersweet pall on my heart. It’s clean, if not tidy. A craft project Amia had to abandon for bed sits at their dining room table. A bright pink water bottle lies on its side on the counter. A toy can be found on the floor here and there, near to the totes they’re clearly meant to be in but not quite reaching. The coffee table holds a stack of Barbie books.

This apartment istheirs. It’s not just Wolfe’s, filled to the brim with his hobbies and interests while his daughter staysneatly tucked away in her designated areas. She lives here, too. The posters on the wall are for movies only Wolfe would like, but they’re nestled between framed art created by Amia at various ages. She lives here. She takes up space.

And she’s treasured for it. I can taste it in the air. That girl ispreciousto him, in the mundane and in the profound.

“Some kids were telling scary stories at school today,” Wolfe says when I don’t move past the barrier of the entryway. “It’s making it difficult for Amia to get to sleep.”

I wipe my eyes, then frown. “Scary stories? Do eight-year-olds do that?”

Wolfe’s shoulders shrug.Apparently, they seem to say.

“They were really scary,” Amia sniffles. Then she lifts her arm, and she holds it out, and she says a series of words that create a maelstrom of feelings within me, ranging from shocked to honored to nervous. “Will you come cuddle with us, Miss Leora? It would really make me feel safer.”

I blink furiously.Stars, this girl has my heart, and she knows just how to squeeze it.

Wolfe flushes. “I don’t think that Miss Leora–”

“Of course,” I interrupt. No matter what nerves I may be experiencing, or what delicious discomfort such an act is sure to cause, the child wants a cuddle. And if the child wants a cuddle, the child willgeta cuddle.

I drop my tote beside the door, kick off my sandals, and approach the couch. After a little maneuvering to make sure my dress isn’t going to ride up and expose the shorts beneath, I’m able to press myself up to Wolfe’s side without fear of falling off the deep, soft cushion. He wraps an arm around my waist, holding me steadily against him. I tuck one of my arms against my chest, and the other I lay over Amia, just beneath his.

Amia sighs happily.

She wanted a cuddle, and she got a cuddle.

A sigh leaves my lips as well. Another piece of her everything, and I was able to give it to her.

We lie in silence for some time while Amia’s blinks become longer and longer. At some point, Wolfe turns the TV on to play an eight-hour video of children’s lullabies, and Amia’s next blink doesn’t end with open eyes. Three lullabies in, and her soft breaths bring with them gentle snores.

I tip my head up to meet Wolfe’s eyes, already on me. “We did it,” I whisper. “We chased away the scary.”

His eyes crinkle, and he whispers back. “We did.” Then, “I’m grateful you came up here. She was inconsolable until I said you were on your way. I know you didn’t have to help, but it’s appreciated that you did.Youare appreciated.”

My next breath takes a minute to find its way into my lungs.

I drag my eyes away from Wolfe to his daughter and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. I wish I could kiss her little forehead—kiss away all of the terrors that lurk behind it. I wish it so badly, I take a risk and lean up to press my lips gently against her skin. I retreat quickly, watching to see if I disturbed her rest.

Her lips tip up as she slumbers, and she makes no other movements.

“I’d do anything for Amia,” I say quietly, returning my attention to Wolfe. “Joining the cuddle is hardly a difficult task.”

Wolfe’s gaze arrests me, so full of emotion I’m surprised he’s not choking on it. Love, adoration, gratefulness… this is how he looks at Amia. Like his whole heart is hers, and he would give his very soul away if she needed him to. But there, deeper, is a spark that tells me this isn’tquitehow he looks at his daughter. There’s a level beyond love, adoration, and gratefulness that is distinctly masculine… distinctly aman, looking at awoman, and wanting things that would make them both blush.

I gulp, unable to look away.

“Wolfe?” I murmur.

“Yeah?” he asks, half-lidded eyes roving my face. They run over my eyes, my forehead, my cheeks—my mouth.