“You can’t go to the White House barefoot. Put your shoes on, Addy,” Bev keeps on. Giving up, I step over to sit on the bench in the hall. I try and hurry with my shoes, but they’re both waiting and watching. After stumbling with the first, I jerk, surprised when Crew is all of a sudden crouched at my feet. I didn’t even hear him approach. He doesn’t say a word, but his big warm hands circle my ankle, making efficient and quick work of the delicate clasp. When he finishes, he doesn’t stand, but slides a hand up the back of my calf, giving me a light squeeze. When I look up, he’s got a smirk on
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