She flinched, a reaction rooted in nothing but instinct and self-preservation.
She then slowly lowered the hands she had used to shield herself from a blow that was never coming. More old habits refusing to go quietly.
“Sorry,” she said, blinking away tears.
He was quick to accept the needless apology. He knew her past, knew the sins of the men that had come before.
She smiled and grabbed his hand, pressing his warm palm against her cool cheek.
“It won’t be like this forever,” she told him. “Promise.”
He didn’t care. He’d wait.
For as long as she needed.
The Weekday One Hundred 