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She follows me inside. The second the door shuts, the air changes.

Clara feels it too. I can tell by the way she looks at me.

Last time, we had a drunk uncle and a stolen golf cart between us.

This time there’s nothing.

She takes a step closer.

I don’t touch her. “Still want this?”

“Yes.”

“Clara.”

“What?”

“I need you to be sure.”

She exhales. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m going to break.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing?”

I go quiet.

Fuck it.

“Trying not to fuck this up.”

She blinks. “You?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“You act like you’ve done this a thousand times.”

“Talking shit?” My mouth twists. “Yeah. This? Not in a long fucking time.”

Her expression changes. “How long?”

I should lie.

Rule five.

Fucking rules.

“Twelve years.”

She stares at me. “Twelve years?”

“Keep saying it like that and I’m leaving.”

“You are not.”

I step into her. “No, librarian. I’m really fucking not.”

Her eyes search mine. “Why?”