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Elijah didn’t say anything about our not-kiss in the walkway, and I can’t decide what that means. Does that mean it’s not worth talking about? That he feels the same way I do and that it was habit and muscle memory and nothing more?
Probably.
I ignore the disappointment which tugs on my stomach at the thought. It doesn’t matter anyway; what difference would it make if Elijah had been as affected by our not-kiss as me? Absolutely none. None difference. And I have the polyester robes to prove it.
Since I’m on my own for the rest of the day, I catch up on emails and a few financial things, and then help out in the printing room. I’m hauling a box of ordination invitations over to the table we use for postage when I see Elijah in the doorway. His hands are at his sides, and he l
