A long, awful pause, another shake of his head. “I don’t know, Nora. Too much, I think.”
“Too much what?” The dread that had settled was transforming into something else—something harder and more defensive. No matter how things had changed between them, it was familiar to her, this stiffening. She’d spent weeks feuding with Will Sterling, with confronting him, and she’d do it again now, if it meant figuring this out.
She tapped a finger against the counter. “Look at me.”
When he raised his head, she had the feeling he was doing what he’d done with the photograph. His eyes were on her, but somehow not; somehow it seemed he’d unfocused his gaze.
“I only mean that it’s gotten pretty serious, and I’m—” He took his hands off the counter, tucked them into his pockets. “I’m not looking for serious. I never have been. Before, with the stuff we were doing to your place, and . . .”
“And the sex?” she said, her voice sharp, accusatory, probably overloud. Dee would be proud of this, she thought. But it was sohurtful, to hear him say that. Not serious? Not serious, when he’d seen her sixteen years ago? When now it felt to her like fate? When she’d decided to tell him . . .
“I don’t mean that.” One hand came out of his pocket, another frustrated swipe across his forehead. “I don’t mean any—Nora, listen. I shouldn’t be talking right now. I’m rattled.”
“It was apicture,” she snapped, but as soon as she said it, she regretted it, and not only because he winced. Not only because she clearly didn’t understand the full extent of what he saw in that picture. But also because she was being the worst kind of hypocrite. The towel rack. The lamp she’d looked at for an hour this morning! Who was she to accuse someone of overreacting to an artifact, when she had a houseful of them upstairs that she was wringing her hands over getting rid of?
And anyway, what was she going to do, stand here and fight with a man to get him to be with her? She surely hoped Marian wasn’t hearing any of this. Clinging to that thought kept her chin from quivering in hurt as she stepped away from the counter.
“This is me,” he said, his eyes full of the kind of sympathy that made everything feel worse. “I know this is all me.”
Oh,God. AnIt’s not you; it’s mespeech. She was not going to stick around for that. “I’m going to let you get back to what you were doing.”
She turned to go, but he caught her hand gently. “Nora.”
She could’ve turned back to him, could’ve stepped into arms that she knew he would put around her. But she was afraid of that chin quiver starting up. So she simply stood still, her back to him, her hand held loosely in his.
“I don’t want this to be over,” he said quietly. “I only need—”
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body along her back. But she didn’t turn around. She bowed her head, and when he spoke again, she could feel the touch of his breath along her neck.
“A little time to think.”
She nodded once, trying to believe that time to think was what Will needed. He’d hurt her, taken the wind right out of her. But the feelings she had for him meant she didn’t want him to be hurting, either.
And she could tell he was.
“Sure,” she said, trying to draw on all that practiced charm she hoped she’d absorbed from watching him all this time. “We can talk when I get back.”
His hand squeezed against hers, a reflex more than an assent, or an encouragement. When he spoke, he sounded reluctant. “I can come up after—”
She shook her head, too desperate to leave, tears threatening. “Everyone’s around. Let’s wait.”
There was a long pause before he finally said, “Okay.”
She ignored the disappointment she felt. He was only doing what she’d suggested, after all. She thought about turning around, thought about giving him a kiss goodbye, some more settled encouragement about this not being over.
But she didn’t know if she could, not if he only wanted what they’d been doing so far.
So instead she squeezed his fingers back, not sure herself what she was trying to tell him with the gesture. She swallowed a lump of sadness and said, “I’ll see you.”
And when she walked away, he didn’t try to hold on.
Chapter 16
Well, this was a first.
Will walked with Dr. Abraham down the corridor from the workroom toward the exit, his bag over his shoulder and his helmet held at his side. Beside him, Abraham was talking—something about an orthopedic surgeon who couldn’t seem to distinguish between the urgency of a broken finger and a possible brain bleed. The case had happened hours ago—an early morning vehicle crash—but Abraham had been seething about it for the entire shift, coming back to it during any break in the action.
“He was trying to splint the finger,” said Abraham, shaking his head. “I’d say it’s against protocol, but I think you would agree, Dr. Sterling, that this is an understatement. In fact it is against common sense.”
