The conversation at the rest of the table slowly drifted back to life as he stubbornly refused to look up.
She rested a hand on his forearm. She was transported back to the moment she’d taken his arm at Cape Flattery. The strength and warmth were intense against her palm. Her body was reacting in ways that made her feel flush even where the dress did cover her decently.
“I’m sorry,” she kept her voice soft so that no others would hear. She squeezed his arm and was about to remove it when he covered it with his other—cool from the beer bottle but warm from the inside.
His gaze met hers and there was a tinge of sadness in how his eyes closed part way.
“We were clearly never meant to have a conversation together. We’re like two porcupines with all of our bristles up and all defenses to th
