"You'll be the death of me, Soorin."
She looked at him.
"You say that like it's a bad thing," she said.
He looked at her with an expression that had absolutely no answer for that.
"Is it?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
He said nothing.
Which was, honestly, its own kind of answer.
She smiled and let it sit there.
His hands squeezed his knees a little.
She noticed that.
She took in the full picture for a second.
Him in just his underwear, sitting in the chair she had moved to the center of the room. The city glowing behind him through the big window. The lamp hitting his shoulders just right.
He had given her the room completely and was now sitting in the result of that.
She had thought about something like this before, actually.
Not recently.
'Damn! Why am I thinking about that, right now?'
The memory came back all at once, fully detailed and a little embarrassing:
Three years ago.
Their house in Calabasas.
Sunday afternoon.
