His fingers curled around Nora's hand before Josh even realized what was happening. Her warm, small fingers weighed comfortingly in his palm, and he felt a wave of relief washing over him. Of course, over the course of his career at the hospital and just getting to know the residents of the Dog Park, Josh told bits and pieces of his story, to different people, to commiserate, to sympathize, to create a feeling of solidarity, that no one had to go through this alone, but Nora was the first person he'd ever started from the beginning with. She was the only one who knew that Josh left because he was too weak to go on living that way.
And she didn't judge him for it.
Josh let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and finally lifted his head to look at Nora across the table. "No, it was...nice," he finished lamely, but managed to smile anyway after seeing Nora start to laugh. He tried to forget about how cool his hand felt now that Nora had pulled away, focusing on how her laughter sounded and how her freckles moved when she did. Josh still wasn't entirely sure if he believed Nora, but hearing someone disagree with what he had been telling himself ever since he left the hospital was a comforting change of pace.
"I think you were brave," Josh said honestly, and helped himself to more salsa. He glanced at her wryly when she said that chipslapping made her tougher - Nora, the five-five, doe-eyed little film major who probably weighed as much as the trays she had carried in the diner - thought she was tougher, but he didn't argue this time. It was easier to pretend to go along with it than try and convince her otherwise. "Let's talk about something less depressing," he said decisively, having had enough morose walks down memory lane. "Tell me something about you. We hardly know each other. Might as well change that while we're here." He smiled earnestly.