Off Limits
Just loud enough to make us aware.
Grayson didn’t let go of my hand.
If anything, he tightened his grip.
He moved calmly through the crowd, positioning himself slightly ahead of me, not blocking me—but daring anyone to try. His thumb brushed over my knuckles in a slow rhythm.
“You are doing great,” he murmured without looking at me.
I swallowed. “They are staring.”
“Let them,” he said. “They don’t get to decide who you are.”
We passed the food stalls, the music stage, and the makeshift beer garden. Everywhere we went, the attention followed. Some people looked away quickly, embarrassed by their own curiosity. Others didn’t bother hiding it.