Amelia's fingers rested lightly against Stan's on the table.
The polished wood was cool beneath her palm, but his skin was warm, distinctly, steadily warm. For a few quiet seconds neither of them moved. The contact was barely anything, just the gentle press of skin against skin, yet she could feel the faint ridge of his knuckles, the subtle calluses along the edge of his hand, the slow pulse that seemed to answer her own.
Every time she thought her heartbeat might settle, the simple reality of what had just been said rose up again and stole her breath.
'He likes me too.' She still couldn't quite believe it.
Stan's thumb shifted, brushing once across the side of her hand in a slow, deliberate stroke. The small movement sent a warm current up her arm, raising a soft trail of sensation that lingered even after his thumb stilled.
