Declan approached at a slower pace. “This guy feeds him.”
“Low bar.”
“He also prevents him from eating socks.”
I looked at Tiny. “Do you need preventing?”
Tiny sneezed on my hoodie.
“Answer received.”
When I straightened, Declan was close enough that the cold seemed to shrink around us. Not touching. Not making it obvious. Just there, solid and familiar in a way that made my chest ache.
“You look tired,” he said.
“I am tired.”
“Vanessa?”
I glanced away.
He didn’t fill the silence.
That was one of the dangerous things about him. He could wait without making it feel like a trap.
“She wants Aspen,” I said. “And a real conversation. I said tomorrow.”
Declan nodded once. “Are you going to have it?”
“Yeah.”
The answer surprised me by being true.
“I don’t know exactly what I’m going to say,” I admitted. “But I can’t keep doing this thing where I answer just enough to delay the next question.”
“No,” he said. “You can’t.”
It should have irritated me. It didn’t, maybe because he didn’t say it like a verdict. He said it like he respected me enough not to soften it.
We started walking.
Tiny insisted on taking the middle of the path, which meant Declan and I had to walk on either side of him like we were escorting a drunk celebrity. The absurdity helped. So did the fact that outside the rink, Declan’s silence felt different. Less tactical. More like he was giving the world room to exist.
“Did you grow up with dogs?” I asked.
“No. My mom was allergic. My brothers and I lobbied for one every Christmas anyway.”
“How many brothers?”
“Two. Owen and Nate.”
“I knew that.”
“You knew their names. Not them.”
Fair.
“What are they like?”
