The Fiancé Who Wouldn't Hold My Hand

While we were waiting for our number at the restaurant, my hand accidentally brushed the hem of Dylan Henson's jacket.

He let out a sharp "tch" and shoved me away, his face cold.

"Didn't I tell you not to touch me unless it's necessary?"

I froze, then apologized on reflex, ducking my head to dig through my bag for a disinfectant wipe.

Dylan's junior from his old school sidled up to him, grinning, and looped her arm through his.

"Carmen Summers, don't worry, I'll help him with his desensitization!"