“But . . . ,” he continues softly, gazing down into my eyes now, mere inches between us, “if you’re open to it, I’d be happy to give you some suggestions.” I have an intake of breath as his finger grazes my chin and gently lifts it. My eyes rise and, with them, my hope. “Well, for the sake of the manuscript . . . ,” I manage to all but whisper and lift oh so slightly on my toes. And then, as though he’s been waiting all his life for those final, acquiescent words, his hands cup my jawline, and he draws me in.
OH YM GOSHH
