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“I want it to be me,” I blurt without any finesse. I breathe deep and say more calmly, “I want to be the one you use.”
“Because I know you,” he says softly, firmly. “I’ve spent years trying not to learn you, and failing.”
His nostrils flare, and then he’s stepping up onto the table. He’s tall enough to do it with graceful ease. On a mission, he walks across the table, the dishes rattling, gaze locked with mine as he comes. Lightly, he hops down to stand before me. I tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He searches my face for one long moment, a man uncertain he’s heard correctly, but then his mouth trembles. When he finally speaks, his voice is deep, so deep, as though the words are coming from the very core of him. “I always was.” I can’t quite make my mouth work correctly. “Always was what?” “Yours.” Tender
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