“Oh it isn’t too bad…!” Jack said as encouragingly as he could, rubbing one of her hands with his own. “Don’t worry, you’ll be out of the other one really quick…!”
She lifted her face to his, her eyes imitating those of a hurt puppy. “It’s still embarrassing having you see my leg like that,” she complained slightly, though a smile tugged at her lips.
Her cast wet enough, she reached for the pizza cutter and tried doing it, her tongue sticking out in concentration.
Jack helps her, keeping her hand steady with his own steady hand, only this way after years of painting and playing the guitar.
“Sweetie,” he whispers softly. “I’ve seen a lot more than your legs, r-remember…?” he only says this when he knows he has a firmer grip on it than she does, in case his words make her blush and uncertain.
Jack Maple 