“To see if we can get through an entire meal without you making fun of my reading habits.”
She laughed, but it sounded strangled. “Graham?—”
“I know you’re going to say no.” The words came out before I could stop them. “I know you’ve got a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea, and I’m sure they’re all very logical and well-researched because that’s who you are. But Agnes...” I reached out, not quite touching her, my hand hovering near her elbow. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t think about you every single day. I’m tired of watching you from across rooms and wondering what would have happened if you hadn’t ended things. I’m tired of being your friend when I want to be so much more than that.”
Agnes’s eyes were bright, too bright, and her throat worked as she swallowed.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered.
“Then help me understand. Bloody hell, Agnes.Talkto me. Tell me why you keep pushing me away when you lookat me like—” I stopped, not sure I should finish that sentence.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m something you want but can’t let yourself have.”
She flinched. Actually flinched, like I’d struck her.
“Graham, I can’t—it’s not that simple?—”
“Then explain it to me. Please.” I did touch her then, my fingers brushing her elbow, and I felt her shiver. “Whatever it is, whatever you’re afraid of… you can tell me. I can handle it.”
“You can’t.” Her voice broke on the word. “You really, really can’t.”
“Try me.”
She looked up at me, and for one heart-stopping moment, I thought she would finally tell me. I could see it—the words gathering behind her eyes, the truth pressing against her lips. I sucked in a breath and waited.
Then she stepped back, putting distance between us, and her walls went up again. It was like watching someone pull a curtain closed on their emotions.
“One dinner,” she said, surprising me.
I blinked. “What?”
“One dinner. That’s all I can give you.” She wrapped her arms around herself like she was cold. “And it’s not a date. I’m just saying... one dinner should be fine. And then you have to stop asking.”
It wasn’t what I wanted. It was barely a crumb compared to the feast I was starving for.
But it was more than she’d given me in years.
“Okay,” I said carefully. “One dinner that is very specifically Not A Date.”
“I’m serious, Graham.”
“I know you are.” I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my mouth. “So am I. One dinner. I’ll pick you up tonight at six. Wear something nice, because we’re going to that Italian place in the next village.”
“You’ve already reserved it?” Agnes arched a brow at me.
“I’m told ladies like a confident man.” I smiled when her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t make me immediately regret my decision,” Agnes warned.
“That’s me leaving then.” I held the book up in the air. “Put it on my tab?”
“Aye, that’s fine enough then.” Agnes shook her head as I backpedaled, moving fast toward the door with the book clutched in my hand.
Did I have time to read it before dinner?
“See you later. For our date.”
