“You make it sound small.”
“It is small.”
“It isn’t.”
His eyes move over my face. “You make things sound better than they are.”
“No. I think you make yourself sound worse than you are.”
His throat works. “That is dangerous.”
“What is?”
“Looking at me that way.”
I know exactly what way he means.
My heart pounds so hard it feels visible. “How am I looking at you?”
“Like you forgot what I am.”
“No.” My voice comes out soft but steady. “Like I’m starting to understand who you are.”
The words hang there, too true to take back.
Kauss’s hand lifts a fraction, then stops.
Behind us, Al calls, “If you two are done making the tunnel humid with feelings, some of us are trying to digest.”
I jerk back, face flaming. “Good night, Al.”
“Night, bakery girl. Bring more chocolate next time.”
Kauss closes his eyes briefly, as if praying for strength from gods he does not ask favors of. “I apologize for him.”
“I like him.”
“He is terrible.”
“So is Darlene.”
“Yes.”
“We have matching terrible elders.”
That almost gets me the smile.
Almost.
Kauss climbs the ladder first and helps guide me up without touching more than necessary. On the street, the air feels too open after the tunnels, cold and salty against my cheeks. The city lights shimmer in puddles. Somewhere far off, a siren wails and fades.
We walk back toward Sweet Tooth in companionable silence. His shoulder is near mine. My hand keeps wanting to brush his. I keep it tucked around the empty food bag because I am not ready to find out what happens if I reach for him and he reaches back.
At the rear door, he stops.
“Thank you,” he says.
“For dinner delivery?”
