Page 97 of Left-Hand Larceny
She steps into motion immediately, gesturing for me to sit on the padded table. “Which one?”
“Left.”
I limp a little for show as I head toward the table. She kneels in front of me, feeling the way the bones and muscle fit together. Moving her eyes from her hands to my face to catalogue any reactions. Our eyes meet and time stands still for a moment,then she looks down and starts wrapping. She’s careful. Precise. Her fingers work fast, like if she moves quickly enough, the moment won’t count.
“Is it bad?” she asks without looking up.
“N-no. Just a t-t-twinge after that d-drill Spags t-tried to run.”
“The shuffle-dash one?”
“Felt l-like I was an i-i-ice dancer skating in a t-tornado.”
She huffs out a laugh, but it’s short. Strangled.
“Sadie.”
She freezes.
“Okay,” she says quickly. “You’re all set.”
She stands like she’s about to bolt, but I don’t move. I watch her fidget with a stack of folded towels. She smooths the top one, then picks up a second just to realign it.
“H-how are y-y-you?” I ask.
“I’m fine.”
There it is again.
“Fine means w-worse than d-dead,” I say.
She startles. “It doesn’t.”
“It does w-when it’s you.”
She won’t meet my eyes, but I wait. Quiet and patient, as she moves to a nearby clipboard and pretends it needs immediate and intense organizing. She flips through blank pages like they’re full of secrets.
“Sadie.”
Nothing.
I rise slowly, stepping into her space. Close but not touching. Her hands falter. Her breath catches.
I lower my voice. Not angry. Not forceful.
Just sure.
“Look a-at me.”
She does.
Our eyes lock. Something in her twists and softens at once.
And then she lunges forward and seals her mouth over mine. It’s breathless, messy, desperate. Her hands fist in my hoodie, her mouth parting like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. I kiss her back for one heartbeat, two—then gently pull her wrists from behind my neck and step back.
“Sadie.”
She flinches. “Sorry. Oh my God. I’m sorry, that was stupid—”
