I lean down and pull them off her feet automatically, swooping into us of old and tending to her so she can stand on the soft grass without breaking her leg, and drop them beside her before straightening up to glare at her for answers. Heart racing, body poised because so much importance rides on this little tiny fact. I’m almost crippled with a low guttural fear that maybe he isn’t gay, and she does love him that way.

Her face changes from pale shock at minor pain to all out ...