Affection can be tricky. It honestly depends on the person and her mood. Romantically speaking, she loves it when Malcolm touches her. There’s never been a time when she shied or shimmied away from his good morning hugs, drunken cheek kisses, or cuddles on his couch.

The thought of Fox touching her doesn’t make her stomach flip in excitement or turn into a black hole of anxiety. Thinking about him feels okay. Neutral. That could be promising.

“May I?” Joy holds her hands out to him, smirking. “Touch me, please.”

Fox looks at them, at her face, and then places his left hand on top of hers. She lets it rest there for a moment, waiting for something to happen. When it doesn’t, she takes his hand in both of hers.

“You’re so warm.” His skin is surprisingly soft, but his palms are rough and calloused from overuse. What could he possibly do for work to make his hands feel this way? Joy continues exploring, tracing the blue-tinted veins down his wrist.

“That tickles,” he murmurs.

“You have nice hands.” But what would it take to let her give him a manicure? Because his palms and cuticles are hollering for help.

“Hmm.” Fox pauses and adds, “Thanks.”

Joy lifts her gaze to his face so she can see his reaction when she smiles at him. He looks tired—gray half-moons have set up shop under his brown eyes—and tense. The movement is so slight, if she wasn’t looking for it, she would’ve missed it. Her smile affected him like he had to brace himself for impact in a good way. He knows the crash is coming and he’s ready for it.

It’s what convinces her to say yes.

“Okay, I’m in. I’ve tried everything else. Might as well go for the Hail Mary too.” Joy lets him go. “Don’t kiss me on the lips or anywhere near my mouth without permission. If I say stop, you have to give me space immediately.”

Fox places his hand on the counter, but only for a moment. He curls his fingers into a fist and moves it to his lap. “Maybe we should come up with a code word. Stop is firm but also alarming. I don’t want them to worry because we’re figuring out boundaries.”

In their earlier game where she counted his words, he had limited himself to single-word responses. Quick, playful, and petty. “How are you at word association? If I say a flower, you have to say one back that starts with either the first or last letter. That way if they ask why I randomly keep saying flower names, we can say we made a bet and are trying to stump each other.”