I squeezed his hand. “You’re right. And thank you.” We were quiet for a bit. “Jack?”
“You know, they say when someone keeps making excuses to say your name it means they like you.”
“They say that, huh?”
“They do indeed. But I want to make it very clear that, while you’re acceptably pretty and moderately entertaining, it’s not me. It’s you.”
“Color me relieved. But seriously, Jack—”
“Again with the name-dropping.
“Shut up. I’m trying to say that I’m proud of you. These people will owe you for what you’ve done for them, but they’ll also depend on you for the rest of their lives. You’ve really stepped up. I just . . . yeah. I’m proud of you.”
He raises his shoulders a couple of times, like he was physically trying to shrug off what I’d said. Then he shook his head and sighed. “This is more awkward than that time you threw yourself at me and made me kiss you.”
“I seem to recall you kissing me, followed by me hitting you. Repeatedly.”
He reached over with his free hand to pat mine. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to be happy with frying pan boy. And here we are!

Author: Kiersten White