I lay my palm on my chest. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth; Joakim’s been back for five seconds, and already my heart is beating like it hasn’t for months. It’s been fluttering weakly, barely able to pump enough blood to keep me moving some days. The world has grown duller, my emotions muted, everything has been gray, and even though I’m still frozen by my front door, I can almost feel the color returning to my cheeks.
I must have stood by the front door like an indecisive fool for longer than I realize because Joakim steps out of the kitchen—eyebrows drawn together, as if asking did you sneak out?—and approaches carefully, as though he’s unsure of whether I’ll flee like a spooked antelope or attack like a hungry tiger.
When he’s within reach, he hooks his index finge
