“I’m not pretending.”
The words came out of me almost at once, as if one second of hesitation would make his words true. My hand was still on the door handle, my fingers stiff from gripping it too tightly. Rain struck the roof in a dense, constant rush, shutting the rest of the world outside and leaving only Neil and me in the narrow yellow light of the car.
Neil did not speak.
He only watched me.
His silence was harder to dodge than an argument. He did not call me out again. He did not push the pantry back into my hands. He only sat there, his right hand bandaged where I had just held the gauze in place, his expression more serious than usual, his eyes clear enough to make my chest tighten. It felt as though what he had said had not come from impulse at all. He had been holding it in
