“There’s a bell over the door,” he says. “Remember? If anyone comes in we can go back up front.” I know he’s right. In the three weeks I’ve been here, we’ve had more time alone than we’ve had with customers—it’s just we usually don’t spend it actually hanging out. This is the first time he’s paid this much attention to me, and I am practically glowing. He presses PLAY on the remote. “It’ll be fine. I promise.” There he goes again with the promises.

“Mean it?” I ask.

“Every time.”

He flops down on the couch and I sit hesitantly next to him. The screen goes dark, then opens on a scene of a mountain, swirling fog licking the top of the peak. A woman’s scream fills the room and the title card flips into view: Mayhem in the Monastery.

Dean’s leg is relaxed, his knee leaning toward mine. He shifts and the edge of his knee makes contact. I can’t tell if it’s on purpose. The touch is so light he may not have even noticed, though to me, the spot is burning, spreading heat up my leg and through my body, warming my chest and cheeks.

I can’t focus on what’s happening on the screen. His presence is too distracting. Why did he pull me back here? Why is he suddenly paying me this attention? Is it just because he wants to watch a stupid movie? Is it because he’s bored? Or did he want to sit here next to me, want to let his knee touch mine? I can hear my breath, distractingly loud in my ears, so I close my mouth and try to breathe from my nose, but that only makes me dizzy.

“What do you think?” He turns to me, shifting so his knee loses contact. I feel a rush of relief and suddenly I can breathe again.

“I can’t tell if you actually like this movie or if it’s a joke.”

“But you look scared,” he says. “You’re so tense you’re practically running from the room.”

“I’m not scared!”

“It’s okay if you’re scared. The nuns are very scary.” And then he reaches over and takes my hand, squeezing it gently in his.

I’ve held hands before, but not like this. His hands are rough and slightly calloused, but I don’t mind. His fingers are dancing in mine, a light feathery touch. I let them trace the center of my palm, then move up my wrist. They flutter on the sensitive skin there, then move back down as he takes a light hold onto each of my fingers, playing with them one by one.