The times she felt the safest, the surest, were marked by small things. When they danced, swaying slowly and easily around the living room, his warm hand pressed gently against the curve of her lower spine. Sometimes they talked and she had to lean back to look up at him but when they were silent and when the children were in bed, she could rest her cheek on his shoulder and close her eyes as he led her in the simple steps. He liked to hum along with the music and she could feel the sound vibrating in his chest. They didn't often dance in public, only once or twice so far, and when they did, they kept a reasonable distance and she found she missed him, being so far away.
When they fell asleep, sometimes she nestled into him as he enveloped her, quietly breathing into her hair, his chest solid and warm against her back. His arm rested heavily around her waist and she could not quite put into words the particular calm that descended on her when they drifted off, wrapped around each other. Their nights were often interrupted between Angela and the needs of the patients of Poplar but they found themselves in each other's arms more often than not even if it was only for a short time before one or the other had to tend to something.
When he looked at her; across the room on clinic day, across their own dinner table, at church, during choir rehearsal, on the street. He got a particular look in his eye that she knew was just for her. It shifted from mischief to joy to wonder to just plain cheek and every time she felt the blush light on her face and flutters in her stomach. No matter how far apart they were or how many other people were present, one look from him and they were the only two in the room. It embarrassed her at first, particularly when he included a sassy wink but now she sought them out, those big green eyes, at every opportunity.