Chapter 4: Back Row

He kissed me again before I could step away from the table.

It was a longer kiss, and he was the one who started it, with both hands cupping my face.

My back hit the edge of a glass case, and the whole case rang softly.

"Sorry," he said against my mouth.

"Don't be."

"This is a very bad idea," he said, and kissed me again.

"I know," I said. "Tuesday. Act normal."

I left at one in the morning, with my mouth still warm and my heart going.

On Tuesday I came to class early and sat in the back row.

It was a plan.

If I sat at the front, I would stare at him.

If I sat in the back, I could watch him lie, and I could help.

Meeting Room 2 smelled like Winona's tea.

Eight of us again, with a new baker who had brought a bag of pretzels and an opinion about them.

Anselm came in on the stroke of eleven, in the gray vest and the buttoned cuffs.

His eyes found me first.

Then he looked at the ceiling very fast, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

"Good evening," he said. "Tonight is the warm-hand cast. It's the one most of you will use at work."

"Hands cup, phrase, 'Keep me warm.' You'll feel it behind your knuckles first."

He raised his right hand and breathed out.

He cupped his hands together, left cuff tucked under his right palm.

His thumb pressed once.

A pink glow showed between his fingers, and the room said "ooh."

I also saw his shoulders.

They were up around his ears.

Everything about him was bracing.

I put two fingers against the inside of my own wrist, where he could see, and I tapped slowly.

Four taps in.

Eight taps out.

He glanced at the back row.

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