“Doing dishes?”
“Being normal. Like we're actually married instead of just pretending.”
I turn to look at her but she's focused on scrubbing.
“You think this is pretending?”
“Isn't it?”
“Feels pretty fucking real to me.”
She looks up then, and something shifts in the air between us. A small hiss of breath escapers her lips.
“What are we doing?” she asks quietly.
“Dishes.”
“That's not what I mean and you know it.”
“I know what you mean.”
She turns off the water. “Then answer me.”
I put down the dish towel and turn to face her fully. “We're dancing around the fact that we both want each other.”
“Real subtle,” she scoffs.
Ishrug. “You asked for honesty.”
She reaches up, her fingers trailing along my jaw. The touch is light, like she’s testing...me, herself. Maybe both of us,
“This is dangerous,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“We can't.”
“Why the fuck not?” I ask.
“Because...” She searches my face. “Because I don't know if you're playing me or if this is real.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if it's real, then everything changes. And if it's not...” She sighs. “Then I'm just another job to you. Which I expect to be.”
The honesty in her voice catches me off guard. I cup her face in my hands, stare deep into her eyes, and lie.
“You're not just another fucking job.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because if you were, I wouldn't be standing here at midnight making you dinner and talking about my dead grandmother.”
She studies my face. “You could be very good at your job.”
