Page 255 of Bitter’s Sweet

“Not us.”

“I know.”

“This doesn’t buy anything.”

“No.”

“You don’t bring it back and expect me to suddenly forget the coffin.”

“I won’t.”

“You don't get a kiss because you know how to use wood glue.”

“That would be a weird payment structure.”

The tiniest twitch catches one corner of her mouth.

Barely there.

Enough to hurt.

“Five minutes,” she says.

“Yeah.”

I cross the room slowly enough that she could pull the frame back if she changes her mind.

She does not.

Our fingers brush when I take it.

Every part of me notices.

I do not make that her problem.

I turn toward the door.

“Bitter.”

I stop.

Sweet’s expression is tired.

“I don’t hate you.”

My eyes close for half a second.

That should comfort me.

It does not.

“You don't have to make me feel better.”

“I’m not.” She swallows. “I’m mad. I’m embarrassed. I’m hurt. Sometimes I look at you and remember things I don't want to remember, and sometimes I remember things I do.”

My throat tightens.

She continues before I can speak. “I don't know what I'm doing with any of that yet.”