L breathed a barely audible sigh of relief. You can fix anything. It had sounded like a corny line after he'd spoken it, but Blythe, beautiful paragon that she was, had simply taken it for its true value. She trusted him to have pure intentions towards her, and just the thought of betraying that stunning, simple expectation made him sick.
She certainly was making it hard, though. While rubbing his foot briefly didn't exactly count as a foot massage, L's ego insisted that it was just that. A foot massage. Then, she stopped and was silent. L wondered if something was on her mind.
"Um... all right," he said, confused but delighted that she wanted him to stay on her bed. "Are you sure it's all right?" he asked, propping himself up a bit higher so he could see the books she was selecting. They looked like good ones... but then, L loved the printed word so much that books ALL looked good to him.