“I like you, Sarah. Not because you need help. Not because you’re living here. And not because I’m lonely.”
Her expression became serious.
“I like the way you laugh. I like that you tell me when I’m being an idiot. I like how you can turn a terrible day into something bearable. And I like that you don’t expect me to pretend to be someone I’m not.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
“Mark, I’m forty-seven.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re twenty-nine.”
“Also aware. I passed basic arithmetic.”
She gave a breathless laugh.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I know.”
“People will talk.”
“They already do. My neighbor thinks I have a secret second family because I once carried two grocery bags into the house.”
She tried not to smile.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I can’t promise that nobody will have an opinion. I can promise that I won’t make decisions about my life based on what they might say.”
