“I am legally and morally obligated to maintain the medication chart.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
He drew in a slow breath.
“I want to meet you.”
For a moment, I could not speak.
Noah lifted his gaze.
“Not the man in the photographs. You as you are now.”
“You see me constantly.”
“That’s caregiving.”
His throat moved.
“I want something I choose.”
The words entered me slowly.
“What do you want to choose?”
“You.”
My eyes burned.
Alarm crossed his face.
“Not forever. I’m not saying I can promise—”
“I know.”
“I only mean dinner.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t know whether what I feel is love.”
“You do not have to know.”
“I might never—”
“Noah.”
He stopped.
“One date,” I said. “Dinner. A film. No expectations beyond the hour.”
His shoulders lowered.
“I would like that.”
“So would I.”
