“My whole body tensed as he neared and placed his hands on either side of me.”
Jem leaned closer against the chair, staring into the fire. “Better it were my hands,” he said.
Will shook his head. Exhaustion was muting the edges of everything in the room, blurring the flocked wallpaper into a single mass of dark color. “No. Not your hands. You need your hands for the violin. What do I need mine for?”
Husband comes into room, carrying a hot pink purse of mine in one hand and a fluffy white cat in the other: What are you doing?
Me: Catching up on email. That may not be your straightest look.
Him: I’m into it.