"Are you always this optimistic?"
"No. Sometimes I have to fake optimism until the real stuff kicks in." She shakes her head, shrugs. "That's everyone, though, isn't it?"
"No." I've never felt like more of an ogre than I do in front of this ray of sunshine. Yet I only want to move closer and bask in the warmth. Instead, I grip the edge of the kitchen island to keep myself stationary. Lest she know she's getting to me. That the soft way she shares herself, her unclouded philosophies, is eroding the concrete slab that guards my insides, leaving me vulnerable—a feeling that simply doesn't work for me. "But I can only speak for myself. I'm alone here. I don't exactly get a chance to observe a lot of human behavior."
"Is that by choice?"
"Yes," I say, too harshly, making her inhale quickly.
