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Summary
Ann reaches across and slips her hand into Ren’s. There’s still no spark, no fireworks. Just a warm ease, the pleasure of having someone she likes so much a little closer, of knowing him a little better, knowing what the lines on his palm feel like under the pads of her fingers.
Ann is used to being stared at. Ren never stares at her.
Ann is used to needing to catalogue the things she wants and the things she doesn't, just in case she has to account for it someday. Ann is not used to being close to someone who doesn't want anything more from her. Ann isn't used to having people care about what she wants.