It was late afternoon as I stood in the bedroom venting to Noah about trying to save the world when he got up from his spot on the bed and came over to me. Noah took my face in his hands and gently pressed his soft, full lips to my forehead in the middle of me talking.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“Nothing. Thought it’d make you feel better. You’ve got too much going on in there,” he replied and picked me up in his arms. He carried me over to one of the leather easy chairs by our fireplace and sat with me curled up on his lap.
“I think I love you a little more every day,” he said and rested his head on mine. “Except Tuesday when you ate that half a sandwich I was saving.”
“You left it in the bathroom.”
“Sometimes I like a snack while I’m in the tub.”
I had no way to argue that since it was exactly what I did with the sandwich. “It was delicious.”
“That was a custom order, you tasty brat.”
We broke out into laughter that spiraled into a half wrestling match, half tickle fight. I got him to tap out first like I always did and then we called a truce by kissing until sunset. Noah kept me sane even in the darkest, craziest times.
“You wanna play Santa?” he asked. “You’re already sitting on my lap, so now all you gotta do is help me empty my sack.”
I laughed at his all too serious face. “I still can’t believe you can make such lame jokes.”
“Never said I was joking.” Noah got up and threw me onto the bed, then pounced on me right after. “Now I want to stuff your stocking with my extra large present.”