Chapter 21: The Key

It was raining when I got to the shop, and the lights were already on.

Carl stood in the middle of the floor with water on his shoulders, between the buckets and the long worktable.

He had a key in his hand, and he was turning it over.

"Darby's idea," he said. "She said you'd say no if I asked."

"Darby's right."

"Do you want it back?"

I hung my wet coat on the hook by the door.

"Not yet."

He put the key in his shirt pocket and buttoned the pocket, carefully.

"I said I wanted to say this standing up."

"You're standing."

"I'm trying to."

He looked at me, and his jaw moved.

"Geneva, I've wanted to touch you since the night you fell off that ladder."

"Since the ladder."

"Before that. The night I stood at your counter and called you the worst thing I could think of, and you handed me the form."

He took a step.

"I thought, this woman is going to be the ruin of me. And I'd like that very much."

The rain was loud on the glass.

I had been married for two years to a man who said sorry before he did anything.

This one said what he wanted first.

"The papers were signed this morning," I said.

"I know."

"I'm not anyone's wife tonight."

"I know that too."

"Then stop standing," I said.

He crossed the floor in two strides.

His hands came up and held my face, and they were rough and warm and shaking a little.

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