Irene stiffened up slightly. Why did he seem so certain of something about someone he had never met before?
"Just what are you thinking?" she responded weakly. "Please keep in mind that he was a dear friend to me."
Henry's hand moved to Irene's back as he offered her quiet comfort in the form of touch—not that she could feel all that much through the layers they were forced to wear. Despite their conversation, their backs faced a rigid cold. He couldn't wait to pull the tent closer to the fire and warm up more properly with his wife at his side.
"And I will forever praise his memory that he never tried to ask you for anything more," Henry admitted. "Because those are the words of a teenager who is in love."
Irene had spent years avoiding thinking more about Leif's words. She had always considered that they meant he truly was her dearest friend because of the way he was so willing to keep her secret even without her knowing.
