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I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.
“You’re not going to let it go, are you?” “No.” “In that case… I hope you enjoy disappointment.”
“If I’d asked you, would you have turned me down?” he asked, still laughing to himself. “Probably not,” I admitted. “But I would have canceled later—faked an illness or a sprained ankle.”
“Are you referring to the fact that you can’t walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?” “Obviously.”
“This truck is old enough to be your car’s grandfather—have some respect,”
“You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever.”
“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb…,” he murmured. I looked away, hiding my eyes as I thrilled to the word. “What a stupid lamb,” I sighed. “What a sick, masochistic lion.”
“Hah! You’re as white as a ghost—no, you’re as white as me!”
“Don’t go away, then,” I responded, unable to hide the longing in my voice. “That suits me,” he replied, his face relaxing into a gentle smile. “Bring on the shackles—I’m your prisoner.”
“I love you,” I whispered. “You are my life now,” he answered simply.
“Breakfast time,” he said eventually, casually—to prove, I’m sure, that he remembered all my human frailties. So I clutched my throat with both hands and stared at him with wide eyes. Shock crossed his face. “Kidding!” I snickered. “And you said I couldn’t act!” He frowned in disgust. “That wasn’t funny.” “It was very funny, and you know it.” But I examined his gold eyes carefully, to make sure that I was forgiven. Apparently, I was. “Shall I rephrase?” he asked. “Breakfast time for the human.” “Oh, okay.”
