Page 143 of How to Prevent a Fumble

I was happy to have a little time to myself this morning.

“Do you want anything specific for the game?” I ask, making myself a cup of coffee.

“Nah, I have an order of pizza coming.”

Situating himself on the couch, I watch as he grabs the remote, turning on one of the sports networks.

His foot taps away at the ground. The man is nervous, even if he says he’s not.

I still don’t know what we are. What we want to be. But what I do know is that Leo isn’t what I assumed him to be in the beginning. Sure, he’s a bit of a control freak sometimes, and sure, he needs to learn how to chill out, but he’s been the sole provider for his family for so long that I understand it.

I love Isla so much, but if I had paid so much money for her to stay in a beautiful apartment and do what she loved, I’d also be worried about someone coming in and dimming that shine.

But Leo’s problem is that he gets in his own way, not realizing that sometimes his overstepping does even more damage.

And sometimes he just straight-up self-sabotages.

I work in the kitchen some more until the game starts and I grab the pizza from the delivery man, placing the box on the coffee table in front of Leo.

He grabs a slice, immediately stuffing it into his mouth.

“You know, I’m going to hire you a photographer for thecookbook. I think you’ll have to probably coordinate how that’s going to work with everything, though.”

“Leo you don’t have?—”

“I know I don’t have to,” he tells me with a smile. “But Iwantto. So I’m going to.”

“I just?—”

“You don’t owe me anything for it, Sunny,” he tells me, knowing I was going to suggest it. “This is a gift. One I really want to give you, okay?”

I purse my lips before nodding slightly, wrapping my arms around myself. “I don’t think there’s been a day where I haven’t cursed your love language being gift giving,” I mutter.

He quirks a brow, smiling. “What does that mean?”

“It means that I’m so awkward at accepting help or gifts that your love for forcing gifts upon people has been a learning curve,” I tell him, settling back into the couch.

“You hate it that much?” he frowns.

I shake my head. “I don’t hate it. It’s just been something different I’ve had to learn to accept.”

“But you haven’t accepted it yet,” he states.

“No,” I shrug. “But I’ll learn to deal with it.”

“I don’t want you to have to deal with anything though, I want you to like it. What can I do better?”

My heart sinks.

“You don’t have to do anything better, Leo. I promise.”

He thinks about this for a second. “What’s your love language?”

“What do you think it is?”

Biting his lip, I watch as he clearly wracks his brain for the right answer. If I’m honest, I’m not even quite sure I know the answer myself.

“I think it’s quality time,” he says finally.

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