“I don’t know if I’m ready for … this.” I wave a hand between us just in case he’s confused. “I need to think it through. We both need to think it through.”
Now I look at him. The words should’ve fully penetrated his brain. And it would be so helpful if I could quit thinking in terms of words like ‘penetrated.’ My cheeks burn, and they have to be the color of tomatoes or lobster shells, maybe bricks.
“Corrie, it’s okay.” His voice is almost as soft as the hand he runs down my arm. “You’re right. We should think about this.” And instead of elaborating on what he needs to think about, he kisses the top of my head and walks out of the kitchen. The door hinge screams a protest and he’s gone.
I look at the kitchen table. There’s no indication that two minutes ago, I was bare-assed where the
