"He hasn't done that in years," he told Clara. "You're good for him."
"I'm temporary," Clara said firmly.
"So is everything, philosophically speaking."
Edmund rose swiftly, brushing crumbs from his waistcoat. “I must now take my leave. Margaret is awaiting my arrival.”
"Please thank her," Clara said.
"When shall we be expecting you again?” Gabriel asked with the tone of someone hoping the answer was 'never.'
"Tomorrow, most likely. Or whenever Margaret makes more food. Or whenever I'm bored. Or…"
"Goodbye, Edmund."
“It is time I departed." Edmund gave Clara a small bow. "Miss Whitfield, It was a great delight. Mind that his company does not disturb your reason.”
“I shall try my very best.”
"That's all any of us can do."
After he left, the kitchen felt oddly empty. Clara began cleaning up, aware of Gabriel watching her every movement.
"You don't have to do that now," he said.
"If not now, when?"
"Later."
"When later?"
"Later…much later."
"That's not a time."
"It's a concept."
"It's procrastination."
“It is the same.”
Clara continued cleaning, and after a moment, Gabriel stood to help. They worked in silence, moving around each other with surprising ease, as if their bodies remembered a rhythm their minds had forgotten.
They were standing close now, Clara holding a dish towel, Gabriel still holding the plate broke the silence.
"This is quite pleasant,” Clara said without thinking.
Gabriel's smile faded. "Clara…"
"I know. I know we can't... I know this isn't... I just meant that it's pleasant, not fighting and hurting one another. Not fighting or hurting each other."
“We appear remarkably skilled at causing each other distress.”
"We're better at this."
"Are we?"
"We could be."
