“That is devastatingly romantic.”
“I have brain damage.”
“So your defense is excellent.”
His mouth twitched.
Then he laughed.
It was quiet and cut short by pain, but unmistakable.
I had heard that laugh in our kitchen, in the yard, beneath blankets, across crowded rooms.
This one did not belong to memory.
I had earned it now.
The realization made my eyes burn.
Noah noticed.
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Look like you’re about to cry when I say something stupid.”
“I’ve had a difficult month.”
“It hasn’t been a month.”
“It feels longer.”
He ate another piece of pear.
“So I thought you were attractive before?”
“You were subtle.”
“What did I do?”
“You stared.”
“That’s not subtle.”
“You also found reasons to borrow tools from me.”
“Were they good tools?”
“Noah.”
He smiled again.
A nurse appeared in the doorway.
“Rest period.”
I stood.
