She trails off. We both know there’s no ending to that sentence that doesn’t bury her further in her own words. That doesn’t betray her own deepest desires that much more.
“Smooth,” she finishes. “Polished. Practiced.”
“I wasn’t aware that was a bad thing.”
“‘Never trust a man who always knows exactly what to say,’” she murmurs as though she’s talking to herself.
“Who gave you that pearl of wisdom?”
“My dad.” She raises her eyes to mine for the first time all night.
The way she mentions him tells me everything I need to know. They were close. The loss of him still weighs heavily on her. More heavily than I ever suspected.
“In this case, your father was right.”
“He usually was,” she says softly.
I let her soak in the silence. It seems as though she needs the space to breathe, to un
