He thought of pizza, and bodyguards, and shoes. Of striped socks and the shape of Colby’s ankle. His hands tingled, remembering.
He thought that maybe, maybe, he was doing something.
He wanted to keep doing it. As long as he was allowed.
He glanced at Allie’s envelope, where he’d scooped it up and tossed it onto the desk. Colby’s enchanted handwriting shimmered darkly on the front. He caught himself smiling: bittersweet, hurting on behalf of those blue eyes but oddly hopeful too, bewildered and wanting and tangled up in perilous quests.
Worthwhile, those quests. No question.
He got up from the bed and went to find his toothbrush; wandering back out, he moved the laptop off the bed, and thought about texting Colby in the morning. Despite the toothbrush, he ended up smiling more.
* * *
