We snuggled together on Dastien’s couch to wait for the news. I started working on a tub of Häagen-Dazs pralines and cream and tried to focus on the TV—currently a mom was yelling at her toddler as she teased the s**t out of the little girl’s hair. Poor kid. Dastien cuddled me to his side and absently rubbed my shoulder. I’d been pacing his cabin for the first hour, but it started driving him batty; thus, the ice cream and reality TV therapy.
Then the knock came, and all other thoughts vanished from my head. “Come in,” Dastien said.
I sat up and put the nearly empty container on the coffee table.
Mr. Dawson stepped through the door. “A decision has been reached.
It’s time for you to come back outside.”
I reached for Dastien’s hand and he squeezed it. It’s going to be fine, he said thr
