Can I trust Quinn? A stranger.
As my eyes meet his, I see nothing sinister or cruel in them, so I take a small breath and slip my hand into his.
Trust has never felt so good.
We walk silently hand in hand, tiptoeing through the living area where Grandpa has passed out on the couch, the TV flashing shadows across his relaxed face.
It must be nice to sleep so peacefully.
Stopping and slipping my hand out of Quinn’s, I silently reach for an afghan thrown across the back of the sofa. I tuck it around Grandpa, and he stirs, snuggling into the blanket contentedly.
I turn back to Quinn, who’s watching me with an unreadable look. I give him a small, embarrassed smile, and he returns it quickly before reaching for my hand again and tightly interlacing our fingers.
I look down at our union an
