“Understood, Counselor,” he says.
I firm my lips. I will not smile. This is not the time.
“And if I walk out now?” I ask.
“The gate opens when you reach it,” he says. “And it will open again if you ever come back. Always.”
“You don’t get a vote,” I say, feeling like an asshole.
“I’m not asking for one,” he says. “Just tell me before… If…” He stops and swallows, looking down. “Before you do anything that can’t be undone.”
I hate how carefully that’s said. I hate how it takes away the fight I walked in here ready to have and replaces it with something else. Feelings I don’t understand.
I don’t know what else to say. I don’t have any more arguments in me. He’s being too damn reasonable, and I don’t know how to shield myself against that.
I look away, out to the blue water, because if I look at him while he’s being honest and vulnerable, I’ll forget everything and give in.
I settle with: “I’m not a problem to be solved.”
“No, you’re not,” he agrees.
Again, I wasn’t expecting that response and don’t know what to do with it.
I look back to find him watching me. “How are you?” he asks.
It isn’t just small talk. It’s a genuine desire to know how I am.
He follows up with: “Are you eating?”
I blow out a breath. “Why do people keep asking me that?” I ask and look down at myself. “Does it look like I’m not eating?”
He laughs. “No. You look…” His eyes scan me, and I fight the urge to shield myself against the sudden heat in his eyes. “Wonderful.”
Heat flickers low in my belly at the word, and I hate that it does. “Don’t,” I warn, softer than I mean to.
“Don’t what?” His voice dips, velvet over gravel. He knows exactly what.
“Look at me like that.” I narrow my eyes. “This isn’t… that.”
His gaze lifts obediently to my face, but the heat doesn’t disappear. It spreads.
“I meant you look well,” he says, and we both damn well know that’snotwhat he meant. “Strong.”
I arch a brow. “Strong?”
He puts his hands up, palms out, in defense. “I simply want to make sure your attempts at cooking aren’t putting either of you at risk.”
“Oh, ha-ha,” I say, fighting my smile with sarcasm. “We’re eating just fine, thank you.”
“Good,” he says. He stands, and every line of him unfolds gracefully. The movement pulls his shirt across his chest; I look away too late and hate the flush that rises. “Then you won’t mind humoring me.”
I furrow my brows. “Humo—”
“Dinner is served,” comes a voice from behind me, making me jump.
I turn in time to see a woman in uniform step back from the arched entryway and disappear.
I’m on my feet before I think about it. “I can’t stay. I have to go,” I say, reaching for my bag like that settles it. “Truly, I—”
