I walk out of the kitchen, rolling my shoulders, needing some space from him. From that look. Why the hell am I feeling guilty about your look when I did not do anything wrong? Ugh! This is bullshit. I walk into the dining room, not wanting him to see the tears of pain that flood my eyes. I quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand as I focus on the painting, a wash of color, over his fireplace. — Isn't that what it seems? So tell me what I have to think. You tell me you do not date, you just make arrangements. So is this where you schedule your dates to enjoy a good time?
—Elizabeth. — my name is a word appeal on your lips. And he's right behind me. I hadn't heard him follow me, my thoughts too loud in my own head. — I am sorry I ruined this for you. — he mumbles to himself.
— You
