“THIS FEELS… nice,” Lily said quietly.
The words slipped out before she could stop them, soft and almost embarrassed, like she was afraid to name something good in case it vanished. They hung between her and the long dining table, heavy with candlelight, clinking glasses, and the low murmur of voices filling the compound’s common room.
Jeremiah sat two seats away, close enough that Lily could feel his presence even when she did not look at him. She had learned the rhythm of him by now. The way his shoulder shifted when someone spoke too loudly. The way his fingers curled against the table when he was trying not to reach for her. The way his eyes always, always found her first.
“This is the weirdest thing you have ever said,” Mary replied, grinning around a forkful of roasted potatoes. “
