“I do. I do,” Hana stammered. “I love it.”
“But you still don’t want to stay?” The man looked disappointed, his bushy brows furrowing into a heavy line. He seemed emotionally invested in her happiness, as though his involvement was more than just another painting job. Hana’s heart fluttered and she could almost hear her husband’s warning. Do a good job or else.
Hana struggled for control and ran a shaking hand over her eyes. “It’s fine, I shouldn’t be here. It’s not your fault. I meant I can’t stay here now. I’m just killing time between appointments.” Killing time. Even the familiar cliché sent darts of warning through her nerve endings. “It’s beautiful. I love it.” She gave the man a fake smile and left, stumbling down the small steps onto the road. Outside, she lifted her face to the
