For once, she didn't argue. We went hurriedly together back to Joan's house, and Melinda let herself in with uncharacteristic clumsiness.
“Joan," she called, and I smiled as I gripped her hand and felt her barely contained eagerness in how tight she squeezed back. “I think we are both going to get some rest before we start at the books again."
“Bedroom at the top of the house!" called Joan back, just out of sight in the library where we'd left her with her book and her tea. There was a knowing note at the bottom of her voice—a have-fun-you-two kind of knowing that started a fresh blush across my face.
The stairs seemed endless as we rushed up them together, hardly caring how obvious we were, in a tunnel-vision flight to get where we needed to go. Melinda flung open a door at long last
