She absorbs that, the concern edging out her earlier curiosity. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
“Then why stay in it?”
“Because leaving isn't an option. And because there are people depending on me to hold it together.”
She nods slowly, accepting the explanation even though I can see questions forming behind her eyes. She's too intelligent not to sense the gaps I've left, but she doesn't push. Not yet.
“You're very careful with your words,” she observes.
“I have to be.”
“Why?”
“Because the alternative is unacceptable.”
Her fingers drum against her thigh again, the rhythm quickening as her mind works through the puzzle I've presented. “You make it sound like every conversation is a negotiation.”
“Most of them are.” I lift my glass and take a slow sip, letting the pause do the work.
“That's exhausting.”
“It's necessary.”
She studies me for another moment before exhaling slowly. “You're not going to tell me everything, are you?”
“Not tonight.”
“Will you ever?”
“If you stay long enough to hear it.”
The honesty surprises her. I watch the realization cross her face, the understanding that I'm offering her a choice rather than making demands. She can walk away now, retreat into the safety of her structured life where patients present problems to address and emotional investments are discouraged. Or she can stay and learn what lies beneath the surface I've shown her.
“I don't know if I'm ready for that,” she admits quietly.
“Then we'll take it slowly,” I reply. “One dinner at a time.”
Her mouth curves into a small smile, genuine and unguarded. “You're persistent.”
“Only when it matters.”
“And this matters?”
“Yes.”
The single word resonates beyond its simplicity, and I let it stand. She deserves the truth, even if I can’t give her all of it yet.
When she checks her watch and says she needs to get home, I don’t protest. I walk her to the elevator, holding the door as she steps inside.
Leo is already waiting outside when we step into the cold, the black sedan idling at the curb. I open the rear door for Rowan and wait until she’s in place before closing it and moving to the other side. The drive is quiet, the city passing in muted streaks of light. She watches the window more than she looks at me, but her awareness never leaves the space between us.
Leo pulls up in front of her building and cuts the engine. I step out first, circling the car to open her door. She accepts my hand as she stands, her coat drawn closer against the night air.
“I’ll walk you up,” I tell her.
She doesn’t refuse.
