Page 90 of Her Wicker Guardian

“That has many buttons,” he says.

“Most of them are decorative as far as I can tell.”

He studies the remote as if I’ve given him another tool. I show him which button pauses the movie and which two control the volume. He tries both, pleased when the sound rises and falls exactly as promised.

“You like the remote.”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to regret teaching you this.”

“I do not know what else it does.”

“That’s why I’m going upstairs before you find out.”

I leave the stove light on and turn off the brighter one beside the couch. Locke leans back with the remote in one hand, already focused on the opening of the movie.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Rachel.”

I make it halfway up the stairs before I stop. The movie has barely started when it occurs to me that I’ve never seen The Iron Giant either. I look back at Locke, who’s already completely absorbed in the screen.

“You know what? I’ve never seen this either.”

He turns toward me, completely serious. “Watch with me.”

I hesitate with one hand on the railing. I was going to bed. I’m tired, tomorrow is almost certainly going to be worse than today, and sitting down again is a terrible idea.

I come back down anyway.

There’s plenty of room on the couch, although less than there would be if Locke weren’t six feet of woven willow with shoulders designed without concern for furniture. I sit at the opposite end and tuck my feet beneath me.

“You’re not allowed to explain anything,” Locke says.

“I’ve never seen it.”

“Good.”

I settle back against the couch beside him.

For a while, we watch. Almost immediately, I understand why Connor chose this movie, and I also understand why Tessa thought the recommendation was a little too perfect. Something impossible arrives. People stare at it, fear it, argue about what it is, and start deciding what should happen to it before anyone bothers to ask what it wants. I glance at Locke once, but he’s completely absorbed in the movie, so I turn back to the screen before I start watching him instead.

Somewhere around the middle, I realize the empty cushion between us has mostly disappeared. I don’t remember deciding to move closer. Maybe I shifted because the couch is small or because I’m tired enough to stop paying attention to where my body ends and his begins. My foot brushes his leg, and when Locke looks down, I pull it away.

“Sorry.”

“You did not hurt me.”

“Good to know.”

A few minutes later, my knee is resting against his thigh. The contact is warm enough that I’m suddenly much more aware of it than I was a few minutes ago. Adrenaline carried me through the photograph, the strangers, Aaron, and Trent’s message, but now the doors are locked and nobody needs anything from me. My body has decided this is the moment to notice that I’m sitting beside a very large, very warm man.

I shift again, and this time I know I’m doing it.

The side of my body rests more fully against Locke’s, and he goes still. Not rigid. Just suddenly, completely attentive.

I lift my head. “Is this all right?”