The fine dust on his shirt, the marks of sweat at his collar, a small cut along his forearm that was dried and old. How'd the day go? Again, not quite a question. "Ethan came into the shop this morning," she said. She had not planned to say that.
Ryder didn't react with any obvious expression. He just nodded slightly like she'd confirmed a weather report. What did he want? He asked. I don't know.
To be seen, maybe to see how I was. She paused. To feel like what happened between us still meant something to him now that he can afford to let it mean something from a safe distance. Ryder considered that. Yeah, he said finally.
Some people need that. I know. She she looked at the grey horse who had gone back to the far side of the ring and was standing there looking at nothing with the magnificent vacant dignity that horses managed. It doesn't mean he gets it. No, Ryder agreed.
It doesn't. Another silence, but it was a different kind from the one in the shop with Ethan. That silence had been charged with everything neither of them would say. This silence was simply the end of a thought resting before the next one. "Yesterday," Clara said, "what you did, you didn't have to. " I know.
You don't know me. I know enough. He said. He glanced at her sideways. I know Harold Holloway was your father and he built half the fencing on three different properties around here.
I know you've run that shop alone for 3 years and people say you're the best seamstress in the county, which from what I can tell around here means you're probably the best in the territory. I know Ethan Mercer left you 3 days before your wedding. And I know the whole town watched you put yourself back together afterward. He looked back at the ring. That's a reasonable amount to know about someone.
Clara was quiet for a moment. And what did you think? She said when you saw me standing there this morning. He took a moment. She had the sense he was choosing actual words, not performing the choosing.