I glare at him.
Rowan shakes his head.
“Helping’s not the same as carrying,” he says calmly.
That lands harder than it should.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Rowan says, “if she’s the one thinking about everything before it happens, you’re always going to feel like you’re playing catch-up.”
I frown.
How in the bloody hell is Rowan. Farm boy, womanizer, Rowan so insightful about married life?
“I work,” I say.
“So does she,” Harry replies.
I bristle. “I didn’t say she doesn’t.”
Harry leans forward.
“Mate. Lou nearly left me after we had the baby.”
I blink. “What?”
“Didn’t pack a bag or anything dramatic. Just… emotionally checked out. I thought I was doing loads. Turns out I was doing tasks. Not responsibility.”
There’s a difference.
I stare at my pint.
Emma did say something once about “the thinking.”
I thought she meant chores.
Maybe she meant something else.
Rowan pushes off the table.
“Look,” he says, not unkindly. “Women don’t usually want grand gestures. They want to feel like they’re not alone in it.”
Harry nods. “And they want to feel wanted.”
I think about last night.
The way she turned toward me in the dark.
The way I didn’t reach.
“I still fancy her,” I say quietly.
Harry grins. “Good. That helps.”
“No, I mean…” I shake my head. “I still really fancy her. Even now. But it’s like there’s this wall.”
Rowan studies me for a moment.
