He tightened his fingers when we stepped around another couple.
He seems perfectly comfortable with this.
This is a thing people do when they are together.
Are we together?
No.
Probably not.
Maybe.
Oh, God.
I do the only sensible thing possible under the circumstances and keep my mouth shut because anything I say right now is likely to come out as, “Hello, yes, I would like to discuss the symbolic significance of your hand placement and whether this means we are moments away from eloping.”
Instead, I squeeze his hand once.
Subtle.
Cool.
Chill.
A normal person’s response.
His thumb brushes over my knuckles.
I nearly burst intoflames.
“So,” I say, because apparently silence is unbearable after all. “You dance.”
He glances down at me, eyes warm with that low-key amusement that always undoes me. “You already said that.”
“Yes, but now I’m saying it with the benefit of hindsight.”
“And?”
“And I was right.”
“That must be a new and exciting experience for you.”
I gasp. “Rude.”
“You’ll survive.”
I tip my head at him. “Interesting. That line sounds familiar. Have you considered that maybeyou’rethe one with a limited verbal repertoire?”
“I know lots of words.”
“Oh yeah?” I flutter my free hand. “Use them in a sentence.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and for one horrifying moment I think maybe I’ve pushed him too far into actual silence.
Then he says, dry as kindling, “You are a menace.”
I beam. “Excellent sentence. Strong word choice. Very concise. Minimal room for ambiguity.”
