We do, and I sit across from him, presents and candles between us on the table. Before I can take a bite, Kent speaks his mind. "You're too far, come around to this side," he whispers, touching the chair on the perpendicular edge of the table.

I smirk, getting up and moving. I guess that stuff was in the middle of the table, too hard to hold hands and all.

I've come to understand that Kent's love language was physical touch. It didn't matter where we were, and I noticed it before ...