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Summary
“Iggy, who?”
“No, you nitwit. Izzy. Hands.” Izzy hisses.
“Izzy?” Stede asks. Izzy can almost picture him stroking a finger over his chin as he thinks. “Oh! The sailor!”
“Yeah.”
“Lovely to hear from you, Izzy Hands, the sailor.” His smile can be heard in the outline of his words and Izzy’s heart stirs behind his sternum, like a bear awakening at the beginning of spring.
Or, Izzy meets the human embodiment of a ray of sunshine that brightens up his life.