Looking at him closely, I say, “You have a lot of secrets, don’t you?”
“You know I do.”
“And you want to tell them to me?”
“I want you to understand who I am.”
“I think I already do.”
“No, lass. Your understanding is the outer layer of an onion. The dry, thin skin. To get to who I really am will take a bit of concentrated peeling.”
“I have no idea where you’re getting your metaphors, but I’d like to point out that trust is something that evolves over time. It’s organic. It’s based on experience.”
“Wrong. Trust is a decision. You can make it between breaths.” He pauses for effect before he delivers his killing blow. “Like you did with me in the shower.”
I hate it when people have excellent memories.
“Hold on. Let me uncross my eyeballs. Are you saying that if I told you right now t
