. . .

“What is the word for it,” asks Navvy Jim, “when someone makes you happy, and you want to play rock-paper-scissors with them, and keep them safe, and see them smile?”

“Friendship?” says Eldri. “Love?”

“No,” says Navvy Jim. He shakes his head. “I am certain it must be one of scissors, paper, or rock.”

“Rock, then,” says Eldri.

Navvy Jim smiles. He winks at Emily. Then, brazen, in utter defiance of the rules and all household propriety, he lifts his forearm. He brings it down. He counts, quietly.

“You can’t be serious,” says Eldri.

One. . .

Two. . .

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