With her arm in his grasp, she loses some of her balance and tips harder to one hip. It leaves her leaning heavily over him, hair spilling over one shoulder. She smiles, slight and reassuring, and her voice never raises above the gentle trickle of a creek in a quiet, summery glen.

"Did I ever tell you that, one time, I got sick an' thought my name was Scarlett?"

She sets the jar down with her free hand, and pulls his collar out from being twisted under his shoulder, smoothing her hand down his arm.

"Was a couple'a years ago, now. I remember I — went downstairs an' tended bar in a blue wig an' a tiny li'l dress, 'cuz it felt natural."