“Right.” Jonah’s gaze flickers to me. This must be that hunting outfit that wants him to fly for them in the fall. “Well then, go on and say hello!” she urges, and I can’t help but smirk, relieved that for once, I’m not the target of her doggedness. As hardheaded as Jonah can be, I’ve noticed he always shows the utmost patience and respect to the Agneses, the Ethels, and apparently the Muriels of the world. So I’m not shocked when he murmurs, “Yes, ma’am,” and hops off the stool. The hand he had settled on my thigh earlier slips around my waist, his thumb stroking my side. I’ve felt his
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