Cricket removes his hand. I blink at him, and he cautiously offers his arm.
I hesitate.
And then I take it.
And then we're so close that I smell him. I smell him.
His scent is clean like a bar of soap, but with a sweet hint of mechanical oil. We don't speak as he leads me across the street to the bus stop. I press against him. Just a little. His other arm jumps, and he lowers it. But then he raises it again, slowly, and his hand comes to rest on top of mine. It scorches. The heat carries a message: I care about you. I want to be connected to you. Don't let go.

Author: Stephanie Perkins