Carefully.
Right in the center of the comforter.
Then he picked up his bag.
The movement snapped something awake in me.
I stepped between him and the door.
“Please.”
He stopped.
For half a second, I thought maybe he would reach for me.
He didn’t.
He just looked down at me like he was memorizing the worst thing he had ever wanted.
“I would’ve stayed,” he said.
My throat closed.
“If you’d said it before today. If you’d said it when we were cooking in Miami. If you’d said it on my couch. If you’d said it in the airport when I handed you the word twice and you kept pretending not to hear it.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“I heard you,” I whispered.
His face changed.
“What?”
“At Thanksgiving,” I said. “When you thought I was asleep. I heard you say you weren’t letting me go at midnight.”
Everything in him froze.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then his jaw flexed.
“And you still said nothing.”
That was worse.
So much worse.
“I was scared.”
“I know.”
“I am scared.”
“I know that too.”
“Then don’t leave me because I’m scared.”
His eyes shone now.
