Andy smiled against the edge of his mouth, tilting to capture a little flighty kiss that tasted like alcohol and fruit and Booker's mouth. She'd take it: the last few weeks, months, had been a time for recuperation, resting and following whatever whim came out. "Yeah, but I can't make it too easy on you," she teased, tracing her fingertips over his shoulders, dripping water on them.

"I know it's one you've been wanting," Andy murmured, ruffling his hair with a soft, lazy tilt of a grin. "That narrow it down any?"

She knew he liked Cervantes, and they all liked seeing him happy when he found or got a new book, and when he sat down to read it.