But this time, it didn't come with grief underneath it. This time, it was just open. Just her. Just the woman who had moved in across the hall and handed him a box and written rule five on a yellow legal pad and stood in his bathroom in his robe and said six words that split his life in two. Just Isabel.
Without armor. Without distance. Without the careful maintenance of a boundary that had long since dissolved. She reached across the table, put her hand over his. The same gesture Nadia had made.
Simple. Direct. Unperformed. "I want to stay. " she said. "I told you that.
I meant it. " "I know you did, but I don't just mean legally. " She looked at him. "I mean here, with you and Nadia. This table, this kitchen, this" She stopped, started again. "I'm not good at asking for things. I've never been good at it.
I'm better at managing and organizing and making sure I have a plan for every outcome so I don't get caught without one. But I don't have a plan for this. " She squeezed his hand. "So, I'm just asking, directly. No rule, no contract, no arrangement. " She looked at him steadily. "Is this Are we" "Yes. " he said.
She stopped. "I didn't finish. " "I know. " "The answer is still yes. " She stared at him. Something in her face almost broke open entirely. You don't know what I was going to ask. I know exactly what you were going to ask.
He turned his hand over beneath hers so their palms were together and their fingers were linked. And the answer is yes. She was quiet for a long moment. Then, what if I'm difficult? You are difficult.
What if I organize things you weren't planning to organize? You already do. What if I make coffee wrong? You've never made coffee wrong in your life. I might start.
I'll adapt. She looked at him with an expression that was somewhere between exasperation and relief and something deeper than both. Ethan. Isabelle. I'm serious.