She said, “What happens if I try it and I hate it?”
I let out a breath. “Then you say so, and we stop. The contract is for you, not me. It only works if you want it.”
Her jaw worked, just a little.
She said, “And you’ll be okay with that?”
“Yes,” I said, and meant it.
She stared at the tiles for a long second, then looked up at me.
“Okay,” she said.
I made her a sandwich. She watched me eat, not saying anything, but the questions were still running behind her eyes, and that was fine.
I could wait.
I could wait forever, if that was what she needed.
But thankfully, I didn’t have to wait forever.
We were sitting in the kitchen after lunch, both of us pretending to read. I watched the way her eyes tracked the page—too slow, then too fast, then not at all. She had a mug of tea cupped in her hands, the steam rising up and fogging her glasses. She didn’t drink from it.
When she finally spoke, she did it without looking up. “I have terms.”
“Tell me.”
She tapped the rim of her mug. “Twenty-four hours. No touching, no pressure, nothing but normal. I want to think about it.”
“Done,” I said.
“I want to research. On my own. No hovering.”
“Of course.”
“And I want a night alone. You out of the apartment, me here, just . . . just to see what it feels like.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Get someone to guard me, but please, give me space.”
“Angela, I—”
“If you want this to work you have to give me a little. Let me trust you.”
I sighed. “Okay. I’ll get someone to guard. Maybe Sal would do it.”
She looked up, surprised, like she’d expected me to argue. “That’s it? No more persuasion, no sweet-talking?”
I smiled, a real one this time. “You’re the one in charge, Angela. Not me.”
Her lips twitched, almost a smile.
I stood, rinsed my cup, wiped the sink. “I’ll call Sal, then I’ll leave at five. You can call if you need anything. Or if you don’t.”
She nodded, then went back to her book.
I called Sal, who was more than happy to come watch over her. There was a separate apartment he could stay.
