Page 45 of Outdrawn

Tyson walked away, and Noah beamed at the praise, grinning from ear to ear. The warmth in my chest didn't harbor any annoyance—I was actually smiling, too.

"Good fix."

Her smile wavered, gaze coming back to me, suspicion in her voice as she said, "Thank you."

"I mean it," I insisted with a nod. "You went the extra mile. Thanks to your patience and my humor–"

"Humor is saying a lot," she corrected.

"We got something worth drawing, though I still would have cut it in favor of the villain's arc."

"He's still there, in the shadows." Noah shrugged. "I think at issue seven, the readers are going to need a breather for pacing reasons."

"They'll call it filler," I warned with a smile.

"Yeah, but if we were going all out all the time, they'd say we lacked substance," she countered. "Darned if you do, darned if you don't. I always rather do."

"Me too," I agreed.

Noah flexed her fingers throughout the conversation, and it was near impossible to miss her grimace. I chewed on my lip, trying to convince myself my next decision was a terrible idea.

"Give me your hand for a sec," I said quickly, like I was asking her to hold a closing elevator.

Her eyes widened, and she instantly stopped flexing her fingers. "What?"

"Whichever one's hurting the most."

Her laugh was low and breathy. "Why?"

"I'm going to try and help you feel better."

"Again, why?"

"If you want to say no, say no." I sat straight in my chair, ready to go back to my desk. A part of me wanted to immediately abort, like I did at the middle school. I'd become good at running, and that scared me. I never thought I'd be a runner. TJ's lecture rushed back to the forefront of my mind—the comparison to Dad still made my stomach turn.

Noah's hand stretched out across the desk pulled me from my musings. She still looked unsure, biting on her bottom lip as she watched me.

"Spread your fingers," I said.

Noah cleared her throat and did as I said, and I wrapped my hand around the bottom of her wrist. Noah's skin was soft as she looked, and her fingers were cold. At contact, my heart wanted to make itself known, drumming louder with each passing second. She tensed when I pulled her hand into the air.

"You okay?" I froze, afraid I'd hurt her, afraid that maybe she felt my heartbeat in my hand and was as panicked as I was about what it could mean.

"Yeah. I'm fine." There wasn't any pain in her gaze. She tilted her head as she studied my fingers wrapped around her.

"Where does it hurt most? Here?" I touched her knuckles with my free hand. "The palm? Or the wrist?"

"All the above." She took a deep breath. "But mostly the wrist."

"Okay, I can work with that." I lifted her hand to press it flat against mine. "If this hurts too much, say something."

Noah nodded as our fingers and palms aligned.

"I'm going to push your hand back toward you. Try not to resist too much so you can feel the stretch and not strain your muscles,” I told her.

Noah made a sound of approval, keeping still as I stretched her wrist back.

“How long have your hands been hurting you?” I asked when I got her hand at a decent angle.

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