His chin dropped to his chest, his shoulders slumping as if a weight he’d been carrying around had shifted. Feeling bold, I let go of his hand before turning and sitting cross-legged so I could face him. I cradled his hand with one of mine and used the other to stroke lines down his palm with the tips of my fingers. Gil let out another breath, but he didn’t move otherwise. He let me stroke his hand without a word.
