Chapter 8: Terms

Monique crossed the workshop in four fast steps and stopped an arm's length from me.

She was shaking, and she did not look like anyone's rival.

"I need you to know I didn't understand what those visits were for," she said.

"He said you liked talking to me. He said you were lonely, and it would be kind."

"And you believed him."

"I wanted to," she said, and her voice broke. "I wanted to so badly."

Wyatt had gone very still beside the walnut table.

I looked at her for a long moment.

She had a smear of mascara under one eye and a coffee stain on her cuff.

"You knew he was married," I said.

"Yes."

"You signed a lease with my grandmother's money."

"I didn't know it was hers. I swear I didn't."

"You stood in a ballroom and chanted at me."

"Everyone was chanting! I thought you were fine! I thought..."

"I yelled 'Kiss,'" I said. "I know."

She pressed both hands over her mouth.

"Please," she said through her fingers. "Please say you don't hate me."

I thought about what to say.

For a year I would have said something I could not take back.

Now I said the plainest thing I had.

"I don't know what I feel about you yet," I said. "But I know what I need."

She lowered her hands.

"What?"

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