‘You really don’t get it,’ she says, picking up the linen napkin from the tray and twisting it in her hands. ‘Do you?’ ‘Get what?’ I ask. ‘I don’t want to be anywhere else.’ She clears her throat self-consciously. ‘I just want to be here with you, in any capacity.’ Her beautiful, expressive eyes keep flitting from my face to the napkin she’s wrecking. ‘I’d rather be here than at work, missing you. And I’d definitely rather be here if you’re ill with only paid employees to look after you.’ My heart contracts painfully at her words, but she keeps speaking. ‘Listen to me. I care about you, you
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