Page 28 of Bedtime Stories
Keane’s eyes meet mine, and there’s a glint of amusement, but also something warmer. He brushes the top of my foot under the table with his own. A light, deliberate graze that makes my stomach twist and a small shiver run up my spine.
I swallow hard, a small, guilty smile tugging at my lips. His secret smile back at me feels as if we share our own little bubble amidst the commotion of the room. It’s ours.
Even as Lane keeps recounting more silly, embarrassing stories—like the time I tripped over my backpack during an indoor obstacle course—I can’t stop sneaking glances at Keane. He’s calm, listening with half an ear, his attention mostly on me, and somehow makes all the madness melt away.
I press my toes slightly against his under the table. A tiny, shy thank-you.
Keane presses lightly in return.
I realize then, as my friends continue with their teasing, that it doesn’t matter if I blush or stumble over words or look ridiculous. With him here, laughing quietly just for me, I feel as though I could survive anything, even a noisy dinner.
And maybe that little spark under the table isn’t just comfort. Maybe it’s the start of something more.
