He looked at the shawl and could not help but ask his question aloud. “Did I—did I do that correctly?” He tilted his head toward her shoulder. She turned her large brown eyes to him. “Excuse me?” “The shawl.” He pressed his finger on his free hand into his thigh. “Is that what I was supposed to do?” “Oh.” She fingered the delicate fabric before smiling up at him. “Yes. You did perfectly.” Relief coursed through his limbs, and his fingers were overcome by a strange tingling sensation—almost as if his blood had stopped just short of them and now rushed back with his relief. “Very good.”
