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For one insane moment, I’m almost tempted to wiggle my ass at her as she did to me this morning. The madness, however, is thankfully short-lived.
“You onto the floorboards already?” she asks, heading for the bucket of water we siphoned off before shutting off the valve.
“Just testing which are definitely stable,” I point to a chalk cross I’ve made on a board just ahead of her. “Avoid the chalk. I’m not convinced those spots are solid.”
I watch with amusement as Lizzie braces her weight wide and jumps her way across the room. Like some kind of sumo ballet dancer.
I snort. Weird woman.
“So.” I hear a soft splash as Lizzie reaches the bucket and starts to wash her hands. “I have a question.”
I’m instantly nervous. Her tone is overtly innocent, which means whatever she’s about to ask me is either horrendously personal or potentially antagonizing. Or both.
“Okay…” I keep my eyes glued to the floor, my knuckles tapping and testing boards I’ve already checked.
“Last night…?”
I pause. I don’t dare look up.
“What about it?” I ask.
“Not that I didn’t enjoy it, and this morning too, but I was wondering what it… was?”
“Was?”
“Well, is.”
“Is?”
“There’s an echo in here,” she laughs.
“Sorry, I’m just making sure I understand.”
Lizzie sighs. I can feel her eyes roll even behind me.
“I want to know what this development means to us.”
I take a careful inhale and lift myself onto my knees. I sit back on my heels and fight the urge to fold my arms. There’s no need for defensiveness. We’re both adults here.
“Does it have to mean anything?” I ask carefully, watching Lizzie’s face with caution. She’s watching mine with the same diligence.
When the corner of her mouth curls upward, a little of the tension is lost but I’m not yet convinced.
“I would say, given how good it was, that it should mean something.” She’s speaking slowly as if each word has only just been summoned to mind. But even with my limited knowledge of women, I can work out that she’s probably been pondering all day. “Not”—she adds—“that it has to mean something serious. I’m not about to haul you to the nearest church, Caleb Walker, I just”—she shrugs—“I feel like we should make sure we’re both on the same page, is all.”
“Right.” It made sense. I’d accused Lizzie earlier of sticking her head in the sand where New York is concerned, but perhaps I’ve been doing the same since this morning. Thinking that not discussing the new development between us meant that I’d never have to deal with putting a label on it.
But Lizzie is right. When things aren’t made clear, people get hurt. Same page is best.
“Well.” I swallow, dust my hands on my thighs, and then stand. “The page I’m on has no churches. Or Him and Her bath towels.”
Lizzie smiles and nods.
“Okay, I can work with that.”
“I mean,” I swallow again, wondering if I’m about to permanently cockblock myself here, “I’m not interested in anything long-term. Or official. At all.”
“Good.”
