“For years.”
“Yes.”
“How can you know?”
“Because I came close to losing every possible future with you.”
I touched the back of his hand.
“I understand the difference between grieving one part of our relationship and losing the person the entire relationship was built around.”
His throat moved.
“I want to want it.”
“You may.”
“What if I’m afraid when I do?”
“Then we move at the speed of the fear. Not one step ahead of it.”
He studied me.
“That sounds suspiciously wise.”
“I stole it from Maeve.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
Some of the tension left his shoulders.
“What were we like?” he asked.
“Physically?”
“Yes.”
I considered the answer.
Every memory I gave him carried the risk of becoming an assignment.
“Affectionate.”
His mouth twisted. “That is evasive.”
“We touched constantly. In the kitchen. In doorways. On boats. In the grocery store when no one could see.”
“Did I start things?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Was I shy?”
“Afterward, sometimes.”
