“I needed space because… this is new for me,” I said.
“This?”
“You,” I corrected softly.
She froze, breath suspended as if the air had crystallized around her.
I regretted the words instantly because they were too raw and revealing.
“I mean,” I said quickly, “guiding with someone like you.”
“Like me.”
“Someone I…” I stopped. The sentence thinned and died in my throat.
She leaned in slightly. “Someone you what?”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No,” I said quietly. “Because we’re working. And I’m trying to keep this professional.”
She sniffed out a humorless breath. “Professional. Sure. Fantastic. Great idea. I love professionalism.”
“Sienna.”
“No, seriously,” she said. “You’re right. We need boundaries. Healthy, rigid, absolutely inflexible boundaries. I’ll build a fence, a metaphorical one, with barbed wire.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Despite everything, I felt the corner of my mouth lift again.
She squinted at me. “Stop half-smiling like that. It ruins my ability to be stern.”
“You’re not stern.”
“I can be stern.”
“Show me.”
She puffed up her cheeks, narrowed her eyes, and tried to look intimidating. It lasted three seconds before she burst into laughter.
I did too.
And for a moment, the tension loosened, dissolving into something warmer. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “So… you needed space because this is new.”
“Yes.”
“And new equals dangerous.”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head. “You know that’s not normal logic.”
“It is for me.”
