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“Six-five.”

Her gasp has me laughing even harder.

Almost as if she’s concerned, she asks quietly, “Are you a literal giant?”

“I don’t think so. Just tall.”

“Sounds like something a giant would say.”

“All right, tiny,” I tell her once we’re on level ground.

“I’d rather you call me tiny than silver.”

“You would?” I ask instead of making a promise I know I won’t be keeping.

“Yeah. It’s at least somewhat fitting.”

“That’s right. You don’t do second place.”

That’s something else we have in common.

Unsure what to do now, I hesitate. I still have her hand, which I don’t really feel like giving up. We can’t hold hands to the dining room, right?

“Here. Your, um…” Kota nods at my right sleeve that’s not rolled up. I forgot all about it.

“What, your mom won’t like my mismatched sleeves?”

“I thought you were trying to impress the parents?” she shoots back.

“Your mom wanted me in a suit,” I admit.

A smile stretching her lips, Kota wiggles her hand free from mine.

I force myself to make a fist before dropping it to my side. It’s not like we were really holding hands.

But I did like whatever we were doing.

As she rolls the sleeve for me, I focus on the way her fingers brush my skin, my scalp tingling from the sensation.

I like that, too.

Everything returns to the dull hellscape I’m used to as she drops her hands to her sides and steps back.

“There. Good?”

No. I didn’t know what good was until Kota was touching me.

“Sure.” I crook my elbow for her to take.

“You don’t actually have to escort me—”

I forcibly thread her arm through mine.

Neither of us speak as we walk through the house. Anything I think to say to her sounds dumb in my head, so I keep quiet.

She’s the first to talk, warning, “Your dad better not break my mom’s heart.”

My eyes study the marble tiles. Another promise I have no intention of making.