There were about a thousand and one reasons it might not be okay, ranging from Luke smelling badly to his being a presumptuous, dirty old man. But he thought better of listing them, and just shook his head, feeling more than a little at sea. But his smile turned less sad, more wondering. As if he couldn't quite credit that she wasn't moving away.

"I don't know," he confessed. He just knew that he felt better about this than he thought he should, because it felt good and right and thrilling in a way he had certainly not been thrilled in decades. And in his life, in the place his mind had been for so long, that could not possibly be correct. "I guess I keep waiting to wake up and realize I've imagined all of this."

Her fingers still feathered along his cheek, and she hadn't moved them, so partly because he felt emboldened and partly as if to dare her to move them he turned his head slightly to catch the tips of them on his lips, a gentle caress he made without breaking eye contact.