Finally, after taking a deep breath, Buck loosened his grip. This freed me to resume the battle, so I reached for his face, ready to paint him with more black grease. As my hands landed on his face, his hands grabbed mine. The battle was on.
Then I noticed something unusual. Buck's hands were on my face, but they weren't smearing soot. Instead, they were relaxed and gentle and held my face tenderly. Also, he looked different. His usual anger had washed away, leaving him looking serious and calm.
His look also had a new aspect to it. A wisp of a smile that I had seen a long time ago on the old Buck, the one whose poster hung above my bed. I didn't understand it then and I didn't understand it now. But I'd always liked it.
None of this made sense. I kept waiting for him to grumble about something, but he never said a word. His bright blue eyes practically devoured me, and if I didn't know better, I'd have said he was about to give me a kiss.
So it shouldn't have been such a shock when he did.