They were not uncertain.
I lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles.
“Maybe is enough.”
“I don’t want you treating maybe as a refusal.”
“I won’t.”
His shoulders lowered a fraction.
“What do you hear?”
“I hear that we can move toward it. I hear that we stop wherever you need to stop. I hear that neither of us has to know the ending before we begin.”
He breathed out.
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“It isn’t you.”
“I know that too.”
At last, his gaze met mine.
“I’m afraid I’ll want it. I’m afraid my mind will be certain, and then my body will panic.”
“Then your body gets to answer too.”
“What if it disagrees with my head?”
“Then we listen to both.”
“And what do you get?”
I stroked my thumb across the side of his hand.
“I get to want whatever leaves you able to trust me in the morning.”
His expression softened.
“That sounds unbearably noble.”
“It’s self-interest.”
“How?”
“I want tomorrow. And the day after that. I don’t want one night badly enough to damage everything that follows.”
Something in his face opened.
He touched the first button of my work shirt.
“Green,” he said.
I let my arms fall loosely at my sides.
