“How are you, Bean?” he asks, his eyes roaming over me like he’s trying to measure exactly how much pain I’m in.
I’ve gotten better at reading him, and I know that when he pokes his tongue at the side of his mouth, he’s holding back a lot—mostly his feelings.
“A little weak, I guess,” I reply, my voice small. But inside, I’m bursting with happiness just to see him. So happy.
Katy glances between us, her eyebrows knitting together. “What did you just call her, Justin?”
That’s when I actually remember he called me Bean. The word slid into my ears and out again before Katy pointed it out, and now I’m staring at him. Are we on a nickname basis now? In front of her?
And seriously, he could do so much better than calling me a bean stalk, like I’m always tipsy or something. There are way be
