“Rule number one,” he says, gazing heavenward for a thoughtful second then looking back at me. “Hold my hand.” “Now or just…?” “Whenever you want,” he clarifies, folding the laugh I know he wants to let out between his full lips. “What if you’re not in the mood for holding hands though?” That happened sometimes with Trent, but I guess it was just one of the perks of being in a secret relationship. “I’ll always be in the mood to hold your hand.”
