Dashiell’s back is to me. His head bobs up and down to a beat that only he can hear; I see the small white AirPods in his ears—strictly prohibited—as I approach the table, breathing a sigh of relief that he can’t hear my approach. My heart’s beating so hard that he must feel the thunder of it shaking the ground beneath his feet, though. I’ve really got to get a handle on the insane physical reaction he triggers in me—I can’t have myself falling to pieces every time I’m within twenty feet of the guy.
