I clear my throat.
“I can cancel lunch.”
Philip looks up.
“With your family?”
I shrug, trying for casual.
“They’ll survive one Sunday without me.”
His mouth softens.
That look again.
The one that makes me feel like I’ve said more than I meant to.
“Mark…”
“We could have the afternoon,” I say. “I can drive you to your sister’s later.”
Even as the words leave my mouth, I know what I’m doing.
Bargaining.
For hours.
Pathetic, really.
Philip knows it too.
I can see it in the way his expression shifts.
Warmth.
Regret.
And immediate caution.
He gives a small shake of his head.
“I should go when I said I would.”
“You sure?”
“My sister will have planned lunch.”
Practical excuse.
Not even a particularly strong one.
We both hear it for what it is.
A line.
A necessary one.
He grips the bag handle.
