She raised an eyebrow sardonically, a half-smile already forming on her lips. “I ran away,” she told him.
“From what?”
“The thought of staying.”
Ouch.
Ouch.“You haven’t been here very long,” Adam offered.
“How do you know? Have you been asking questions?” she teased.
Adam smiled at that. “That’s my job. I’m a journalist, remember.”
“You’re not a journalist.” She looked at him seriously. For a moment, he thought she was going to reach out across the space that separated them and take his hand, but she stayed where she was, resting her arm on the back of the couch as she re-folded her legs. “You’re a writer.”
“I thought I could be. Once upon a time. I haven’t written a good story for a long time.”
could“Why not?”
“I suppose I’m just tired.”
“Tired – and lost,” she ventured. “Maybe
