“It sounds weird?—”
“You don’t need to do that,” I cut in.
“Do what?”
“Downplay yourself. Your past. Your … anything, Rose. I wantallof you.”
She sits up straighter. “You’re right. I do tend to downplay stuff.”
“You don’t have to with me.”
She reaches across the table. Touches my hand. “I was obsessed with books about houses. Renovation specifically. Before Mom got ill, I was studying to be a property developer. Not like those asshats trying to take my house though. Not some big mega corporation sucking the soul from homes. I wanted to develop with care, with pride.”
Her passion blazes through with every word.
“You’ll do it,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. “You sound so sure.”
“Your mom’s house is the start, Rose,” I tell her firmly. “One day, you’ll be a success. I promise you.”
I’m addicted to her smiles. She squeezes my hand. “Thank you.”
“So …”
“Oh, me still?” She laughs. “Well, I didn’t have many friends. Some, but not many. I spent a lot of time reading, like I said. Never had many boyfriends either. Then I went to college—Mom got sick—I came home and we lived with my uncle in the city so that he could take care of her when I was at work. But she wouldn’t sell the home. When she …”
She lets out a croak.
“It’s okay,” I say huskily. “I’m here.”
“You know, passed,” she presses on. “I moved back to the house and got to work. That’s when I discovered that a certain somebody had moved into Mr Nelson’s rundown house …”
She looks at me questioningly. I swallow hard.
Here I am saying she deserves everything. But I still haven’t given her the truth.
How can I without putting her in danger?
Hypocrite. She’s in danger just sitting here with you.
Our food arrives, both of us having medium-rare steak. The pause gives me a chance to try and organize my thoughts. To stop being so damn evasive.
I cut into my steak. Stare at the blood spreading across the plate and think about all the blood I’ve spilled.
“I want to tell you the truth,” I say. “But I’d rather focus on you.”
“You’ve got my whole life story,” she replies with a nervous laugh. “I’m really not that interesting.”
“You are,” I say passionately. “You’re the most interesting woman I’ve ever met. You did the right thing, coming home for your mom. I know it must’ve been hard. But you did it. And you’re doing the right thing again.”
“I don’t have much choice.”
“But you do, Rose. People make bad choices all the time. It only seems like you’ve got no choice because doing anything else doesn’t even fit into your head.”
I love you.
I should just say it.
