"Could isn't the same as are."
“Not quite, no, but it is certainly the beginning.”
Gabriel set down the plate carefully. "I have no wish to cause you pain yet again.”
"Then don't."
"It's not that simple."
"It could be."
They stood facing each other for a moment.
"I should go," Clara said finally. "Check on the morning room. Make sure you haven't destroyed it again."
"I only did that once."
"Twice."
"The second time was an accident."
"How do you accidentally mess up a room?"
"I was looking for something."
"What?"
Gabriel paused. "A book."
"Which book?"
Another pause. "A journal."
Clara's breath caught. "My journal? The one you gave me?"
"You kept it?"
“You sought it out?”
They stared at each other, as another piece of the puzzle slowly fell into place.
"I wanted to see," Gabriel said quietly, "if you'd written about me…after..."
"I did."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing repeatable in polite company."
“Then it is a good thing we're not polite company."
"Gabriel..."
"I know. Inappropriate. Employer, employee. I'll stop."
But he didn't move away, and neither did Clara. The kitchen felt smaller suddenly, warmer, charged with possibility and danger in equal measure.
"The morning room," Clara said weakly.
