I stayed on the terrace a long while after Eleanor left, the last of the light draining slowly out of the garden, her promise still settling somewhere deep in my chest– until the wedding season ends. A few more weeks. I turned the phrase over and over, trying to decide whether it felt like relief or like waiting for a verdict.
Noah found me there eventually, two cups of tea balanced carefully in his hands, an offering he set down without comment before settling into the chair beside mine.
"You made tea," I said, something warm moving through the ache still sitting in my chest. "For me."
"I've been paying attention." He handed me the cup, and I noticed, with a small private smile, that he'd even guessed at the honey. "Eleanor told me a little of what she said to you. Not everything. Enou
