The words left my mouth before I evaluated them.
Silence.
Her expression cooled by degrees.
“From what I’ve observed,” she replied evenly, “real estate is merely men moving paper in circles.”
I paused. She seemed upset. “You’re angry,” I said.
“It sounded dismissive,” she shot back at me.
“That was not my intent.” Why was I explaining myself to this woman? I never explained myself to anyone.
“Impact matters more than intent,” she replied.
There it was again, that steady gaze. She was not intimidated, not shrinking. This woman was a puzzle I had yet to figure out. I liked puzzles, especially puzzles with curves I could get lost in.
“I prefer controlled environments,” I said.
“Derby is controlled,” she said. “We train. We practice. We protect each other.” She shifted her weight. “You should come watch sometime.”
The suggestion surprised me.
“I doubt I would enjoy it.”
“You might.”
“I don’t enjoy unnecessary risk.”
Her jaw tightened. “It’s not unnecessary.”
I realized then that this mattered to her more than I’d accounted for. Which I should have realized, because she had gotten it inked permanently on her body.
“I see,” I said.
“You don’t,” she replied quietly.
The air shifted. What had been light turned careful. I set the container down.
“I . . . uhhh, didn’t . . . ,” I choked out. An apology was sitting on my tongue, but I had not had the words in my vocabulary for years. Yet I found myself wanting to be understood by her as much as I wanted to understand her. It was peculiar.
She held my gaze for a moment longer, then nodded once.
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t.
“I should get back,” she added, lifting the clipboard slightly.
“Yes,” I said.
She turned and walked down the hallway. Her footsteps faded toward the basement stairs. The kitchen felt colder immediately. I remained standing there longer than necessary.
It had been going well. She had been relaxed.
And I had reduced something she cared about to unnecessary aggression.
I moved to the doorway, listening as the basement door closed softly below.
