Traffic. Someone's music distant and unidentifiable. A couple walking past on the sidewalk below. Not looking up. Andre was quiet for a long time.
How long do you have to decide? He asked. Monday. Today is Friday. I know.
He turned toward her, put both hands on the railing beside hers, not touching. Just beside Clare. When were you going to tell me about this? Before tonight. I mean, if this dinner hadn't happened, she held his gaze.
I don't know, she said honestly. Maybe never. Maybe I would have just accepted it and told you after when it was already decided and couldn't be argued. To protect yourself. To protect both of us, she said quietly.
From having to figure out what this is before we've ever actually said what it is. Something turned over in his chest. I've known what it is, he said. For longer than I'd like to admit. She looked at him.
Her expression did something complicated. Hope and fear occupying the same space. The way they do when something you wanted arrives at exactly the moment you're least prepared for it. Andre, take the jobs, he said. She blinked.
He said it again. Take the job, Claire. That's She shook her head slowly. That's not what I was expecting you to say. I know.
I wasn't asking for your permission. I know that, too. I'm not giving you permission. I'm telling you what I think. He turned to face her fully now.
You just told me that the man who loved you before built a counterargument. So, I'm not building one. The job is right. You know it's right. The fact that you haven't accepted it yet isn't because you're unsure about the job.