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“Not us.”

“I know.”

“This doesn’t buy anything.”

“No.”

“You don’t bring it back and expect me to suddenly forget the coffin.”

“I won’t.”

“You don't get a kiss because you know how to use wood glue.”

“That would be a weird payment structure.”

The tiniest twitch catches one corner of her mouth.

Barely there.

Enough to hurt.

“Five minutes,” she says.

“Yeah.”

I cross the room slowly enough that she could pull the frame back if she changes her mind.

She does not.

Our fingers brush when I take it.

Every part of me notices.

I do not make that her problem.

I turn toward the door.

“Bitter.”

I stop.

Sweet’s expression is tired.

“I don’t hate you.”

My eyes close for half a second.

That should comfort me.

It does not.

“You don't have to make me feel better.”

“I’m not.” She swallows. “I’m mad. I’m embarrassed. I’m hurt. Sometimes I look at you and remember things I don't want to remember, and sometimes I remember things I do.”

My throat tightens.

She continues before I can speak. “I don't know what I'm doing with any of that yet.”