And every time I notice that, it becomes harder to remember where the pretending is supposed to be.
The dish slips slightly in her hand. Without thinking, I reach out, catch it. Our hands brush.
A simple thing. Nothing dramatic.
Still.
Neither of us moves immediately.
For one second.
Two.
Then she clears her throat.
I step back.
The moment disappears.
But not completely.
Some things linger.
This is becoming one of them.
Movie night begins shortly afterward.
According to Jillie, every snowstorm requires:
Hot chocolate.
Blankets.
Movies.
And emergency snacks.
The emergency snacks seem suspiciously identical to regular snacks, but I decide not to mention it.
The three of us pile onto the couch.
The fort remains nearby.
Jillie insists it must stay.
Apparently, it is now protected historical architecture.
Halfway through the movie, I notice something.
Sadie is laughing.
Again.
Not the polite laugh she gives customers.
Not the careful one she uses when she's tired.
This one is real. Unguarded.
