My eyes detached from his wound and reluctantly met his. “I wanted to leave before you could ask me to.”
He frowned at me, a mix of confusion and exasperation clouding his features. “Why would I ask you to do that?”
I stood up suddenly, wanting to increase the space between us as my confessions plagued the air. The willow watched us wearily.
“You do all of this because you think you care for me.” I insisted, waving my arm toward the garden that he made glow.
“I know that I care for you,” he corrected me matter-of-factly as he leaned back on his hands, “but go on.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, turning my back to him.
“Why do you think that?” he demanded with annoyance still in his tone. “That makes no sense, Cathy.”
