Her fingers tighten around the mug, grounding herself. “Does that bother you?”
…Yes.
No.
Everything about her bothers me in ways I don’t have vocabulary for.
“It just makes things… complicated,” I say.
“Because?” she presses, gentle but brave.
Because I’m starting to fall for you.
Because I don’t understand your walls.
Because I don’t know what you’re running from.
Because I don’t know how much you’ll let me know.
I swallow instead of saying any of that.
“Because I don’t want you to feel cornered by anyone. Including them.”
Her breath catches.
For a moment, she just watches me. Really watches me.
The kettle begins to boil.
She turns away, flustered.
I pretend not to notice.
We step out on the back porch, mugs steaming between us, the lake a dark mirror just beyond the railing.
“Do you ever sleep?” she asks, teasing.
“Rarely,” I say. “You?”
She huffs a laugh. “Define sleep.”
The silence after isn’t awkward. It’s loaded.
She sips her tea, looking anywhere but at me.
“You asked earlier,” I say softly. “If I were angry.”
She nods.
“I wasn’t.”
Pause.
“I was… scared.”
Her eyes snap to mine.
Of what?They say without words.
