I shake my head. “I see you ditched the lumberjack aesthetic.” “Are you sad about it?” “Marginally.” Although sad might not be the appropriate word. Worried for myself is more like it, although I’d never admit such a thing to him. He leans against the doorframe. “Is it because I won’t be chopping wood for the fireplaces anymore?” I choke on my next breath. “Why would that make me sad?” “Because I caught you staring through the window sometimes.”
