“Make one,” he ordered. And then shook his head, massaged his eyes, and repeated more gently, “Maybe you should make one.” “It’s not that simple.” “You need someone to call if—” “What about I call you?” I joked. “Yes, please. Please, fucking do that. Do you want my number now, or…?” He stared, waiting for an answer. And then his eyes softened. The breeze picked up between us, and he kept looking, looking, looking. Looking. “It’s unsettling when you do that,” I said softly. He turned away, chest heaving. “I’m sorry.” His Adam’s apple moved. “I forget to look at other things, when you’re
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