She looked down at our joined hands.
Then she leaned her head against my shoulder.
I sat perfectly still.
Not because I didn’t want to hold her.
Because I wanted to make sure she knew she was free to move away.
After a while, she lifted her head.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For leaning on you.”
I gave her a small smile.
“Sarah, I once spent an entire Sunday watching a documentary about people who restore old furniture. You are not the strangest thing I’ve leaned on this week.”
She laughed through her tears.
Then she rested her head against my shoulder again.
And this time, I gently put my arm around her.
Neither of us said anything.
But something had changed.
The Kiss Neither of Us Planned
It happened on a Thursday evening.
Of all the dramatic possibilities, I hadn’t expected a kiss to begin with a burnt piece of toast.
