What are we doing? He was quiet for long enough that she looked up. He was looking at his hands, which were flat on the table, and the expression on his face was the one she'd seen briefly at the wedding. Something opened, temporarily unguarded. I don't know, he said.
I thought I knew. When we started this, I thought I knew exactly what it was. And now, he looked at her. Now I know what it isn't, he said. It isn't just useful for me.
It stopped being just useful a while ago. She felt something in her chest that was too large for the space it was trying to occupy. When, she said. The day you fixed my crooked stitch, she meant to say. No, that wasn't right.
When was it for you? She corrected. Something moved at the corner of his mouth. Duchess, he said. The horse.
When you laughed about Duchess, he looked back at his hands. That was, I don't know, something. She stood on her side of the worktable and understood that she was standing at a precise edge. That on one side was the safety of the arrangement as it had been useful, definable, ending when Ethan left, and on the other side was whatever came after admitting what she'd been admitting to herself since midnight after the Morrison wedding. I think, she said carefully that I am in a very similar position.
Ryder raised his eyes. But I'm scared, she said. I want you to know that. I'm scared and I'm not good at. I spent 3 years learning not to need anything and now she stopped.
I'm not saying no. I'm saying I need you to be patient with me. Clara, he said. His voice was different, quieter. Something in it that she felt rather than heard.
I've been patient with a horse who tried to bite me for 3 weeks. I think I can manage. She laughed. That same involuntary exhale, genuine and sudden. He almost smiled.