“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
“Good.”
She paused.
“If you aren’t sure what you feel, that’s perfectly fine. But don’t tell me what you think I want to hear.”
I swallowed.
“I’ve never been so certain of being uncertain in my life.”
For a moment, she stared at me.
Then she laughed.
Not politely. Not quietly.
She laughed as if I’d caught her completely off guard.
“That’s the most honest answer I’ve heard in years.”
I drove home and barely slept.
By morning, I knew one thing.
I didn’t want to stop seeing her.
I just didn’t know how to begin.
The trouble arrived on a Saturday afternoon.
I was planing a maple slab in my workshop when I heard heels striking the concrete floor behind me.
I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Tasha had a particular way of entering a room, as though every conversation had been waiting for her arrival.
