His thumb stayed right there on the inside of my thigh.

Neither of us moved.

The fire was the only light left in the room, then the rain went heavier

My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could feel it through my leg.

This is Nathan, I kept thinking. Brooke’s dad. The man who used to make us pancakes and fix my bike when the chain came off. The same man who called me “kid” even when I turned eighteen. And now his hand was on my bare thigh like it belonged there.

I should have pushed it away or stood up and gone to bed, but...