She wants to reach out and fiddle with the previously broken fingers, like she could feel the healed bone through his skin. But she recalls the intensity of his reaction the last time she'd touched him without warning, and she instead twists her fingers into a napkin.

"It's . . . normal, for me, I guess?" she offers. "I know that's kind of a shitty answer. I don't have a basis for comparison, though. Jack is . . . the other half of me, probably literally. He knows me better than anyone. I have no secrets from him." She pauses, then bites her lip. "Too intense?"