A big step.
Not yes.
Not I want that too.
Not I’m scared, Evie, but I want to try.
Just a big step, spoken in that careful, grave voice of his while his hand bends the counter edge behind him because apparently the metal can take more honesty than I can.
I nod once.
The motion feels too smooth, too calm, like my body has decided to be professional about the disaster before my emotions can catch up.
“Right,” I say.
Kauss’s eyes sharpen immediately. “Evie.”
“No, that’s fair. It is a big step.”
“It is.”
“Absolutely. Huge. Massive. Very step-shaped.”
His brow pulls down. “You are upset.”
I laugh once, and the sound comes out brittle enough to cut. “Wow. Nothing gets past you.”
He straightens. “That is not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“I meant exactly what I said.”
“I know.”
“No, you do not.”
That hurts worse because he sounds so certain, as if I am the one misreading the room, as if he did not just stand in my kitchen after weeks of sleeping in my bed, eating at my table, fixing my building, touching me like I matter, and answer my stupid, hopeful, heart-on-the-floor question with the verbal equivalent of backing slowly toward an exit.
I drop the towel on the counter. “Okay. Explain it, then.”
His mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
There it is.
My chest tightens until breathing feels embarrassing.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “That’s what I thought.”
“No.” He steps toward me. “Wait.”
I step back.
The movement stops him more effectively than shouting would. His face changes, pain flashing through the stern control,and a mean, wounded part of me is glad he sees it. I want him to know he hurt me. I want him to feel even a fraction of this stupid, familiar humiliation burning under my ribs.
I should have known better.
