I pick up our glasses and follow him into the kitchen, where he’s already rinsing the plates and adding them to my dishwasher. He takes the glasses out of my hands and adds them to the top rack, then turns to look at me. His eyes soften for a second, then he rights the neck of my sweater that’s slipped off my left shoulder and runs his hand up my neck, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Only it’s not natural for me. It tickles, and I bite down on my lip and giggle as I take a step back. “Ahh . . . ticklish. Noted. You better get some sleep. Big night tomorrow.” I cross my arms over
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