Chapter 39
“Hmm,” Jill said. “If you’re sure.”
“Shall we do it again?”
They went back and found their marks. Jason, under cover of motion, bent to ask, “I didn’t hurt you, right?”
“I’d tell you if I didn’t feel—”
“Not like that. Or yeah, that too, but more literal.” He touched Colby’s shoulder. “Bookshelves are kinda hard, you know.”
“Ah. Yes.” Colby did Will’s hand wave at him, languorous and purposefully exaggeratedly lofty. “I can handle bookshelves. And your hands on me along with bookshelves. I might have one or two bruises. You can cover me in ice or lotion or whatever you’ve got, after.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Okay. Let’s do it again.”
They did it again, or started to.
This time Jason and Colby tripped over themselves in the doorway—Jason’s boot got caught on the edge of the imported rug—and caught balance and each other, clung tightly, met each other’s eyes, and dissolved into giggles.
“Oh, come on, you two,” Jill said, but fondly. “You even screw up adorably. Disgusting.”