Lincoln’s arms were long. Gangly, sort of, like the way a brand new foal’s legs looked when they were just born. But there was still muscle wrapped around them, a little tone and definition. He stretched them out to full-length, his entire wingspan spreading across the back of the booth.

I could fit right there, I thought. Right in that gap between the wall of windows and the groove of his body. I bet it would be the most comfortable place in the world. I bet I could fall asleep there.

I’m not sure I’d ever want to wake up.