He’s so still, I think a strong wind might knock him over. “There’s no such thing as loving someone eighteen percent.” “Yes, there is. I’ve done the math.” “You can’t measure love.” His voice sharpens on the last word before twisting. There’s mockery running all through it now. “But if we’re going to play the numbers game, then I guess I would have to say that I tolerate you eighteen percent, Naomi.” “So you don’t love me, then.” “I didn’t say that.”
