There was a moment back there in the White Mansion. You didn't move. I wouldn't have minded if you had.
He opened his arms.
Truculence dissipated like a bubble bursting. When I bounded over the couch, sped across the bookstore, and flung myself into them, he caught me up and swung me around and I threw my head back, laughing just like a heroine in one of those romantic movies.
Karen Marie Moning's Feversong.