“You want me to stay a while?” Goose asked.
“I’m fine.” The paper bag lunch he’d packed for me rustled in my shaking hand. I set it down, so Goose wouldn’t notice. “One more kiss and the idea of coming home to you will get me through the day.”
“You got it.”
I stole two, one before gently walking Goose back to the door, and one outside it, where I’d rushed to be again. “See you this evening.”
“Have a nice day. I’ll call.”
I knew he would, likely every fifteen minutes, possibly even more often, if he was reading my anxiety. “I’ll answer,” I said.
I went back inside, only because Goose sat there watching. My hand never left the doorknob, though. The moment he pulled away, out I went, back the other way, into the muggy summer muck, after flipping the sign against the glass to Sorry, We’r
