The tour guide asked if anyone had questions. No one did, except the middle child of the family—a boy. He raised his hand again and again while his sisters played in the terribly small passageway. Every time one of them darted out of sight, Luke winced. If the tour guide tried to make him walk through that, he’d flat-out refuse.

The boy was proving the idea that there was “no such thing as a stupid question” wrong.

Luke wanted to strangle both the guide and the kid.

“Any other questions?” the tour guide asked.

Just as the boy brought his hand up to his chest in preparation to raise it, Luke caught the kid’s eye. He gave him a scowl that said, You ask another question and you die. The kid’s arm shrank back to his side.

Finley peeked at him. Her forehead tweaked. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

She studied him.

He knew she was seeing more than he wanted her to see.

She came to stand beside him and interlaced her hand with his. She didn’t speak as the tour guide led them back to the train for the trip out. She didn’t need to speak. He knew what she was saying through their joined hands.

I’m here.

The mine tour had been painful for Luke, and Finley was kicking herself because of course. Of course! Dark underground places would stir up old trauma for him.

She should have been more thoughtful. She should have anticipated the problem before they’d bought tickets. She could have gone on the train alone and met up with him aboveground. She would have offered that, had it occurred to her.

She hadn’t realized the error of her ways until they’d arrived in the underground space and she’d seen Luke’s pale, drawn face. Instantly, her reasons for keeping distance between them evaporated in a wave of compassion. The simple, comforting connection of their hands had felt more right than anything had in days. His strong fingers. Her strong grip. Interlaced.

For the remainder of the tour, she’d held his hand, willing it to end as quickly as possible for his sake.

“I’m sorry,” she told him as soon as they returned to open air. She released his hand as they were ushered onto a covered patio marked with several shallow metal chutes. “I know that was awful for you.”

His lips firmed.

“The underground tour would have felt more worthwhile,” she continued, “if I’d had a revelation about the treasure hunt. But because I didn’t, it feels like I put you through that for no good reason.”

“I don’t blame you. You couldn’t have known whether or not you’d find anything before we started.”

“How are you doing now?”

“Better.”

His skin was still too white against his beige shirt and black jacket.

“Who wants to pan for gold?” their tour guide asked.