“It is breakfast time,” he announced. “It is no longer time to hold hands.” “Ah Ba! We weren’t holding hands. He was just…helping me with my hands being sore.” It was not even slightly convincing. Jeremy felt himself blush. “Oh,” Mr. Fong said. “I see. Posh Jim, what a self-sacrificing, noble, and convenient reason to hold my daughter’s hands.” That, Jeremy thought, and the fact that I’m trying to marry her.
