Page 73 of The Stipulation
“Kyoto,” I answer without having to think about it. “In the spring. When the cherry blossoms are out. I want to see the temples at dawn before the crowds arrive.”
He nods slowly. “I can picture you there.”
“Can you?”
“Yes. You would pretend you weren’t emotional about it. But you would be.”
“Maybe.”
“Where else?”
“Iceland,” I say. “To see the Northern Lights. And I know you said somewhere I’ve never been, but I really want to go to Florence again. I want to savor it properly this time. I rushed it when I visited when I was studying.”
He watches me as if committing my every word to memory.
“And you?” I ask, needing to balance the way he’s looking at me with something lighter. “Where do you dream about?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Patagonia,” he says finally. “Somewhere remote. No reception. Just mountains and silence.”
I smile faintly. “No reception at all?”
He shrugs. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t need to control everything all the time.”
I lift a brow.
He huffs a laugh. “All right. I’m trying here.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, touching his hand with mine.
The contact stills him. The air seems to thicken. “I know,” he says, his voice softer now. “But I want to.”
Because of me. He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to. I hear the words left unsaid as clearly as the ones he did say. I start to pull my hand back slowly, but his fingers catch mine before I can retreat completely. He turns my hand over so that my palm is upwards, tracing the faint lines there as if they’re a map.
I meet his gaze.
“I’m just happy getting to know the you that lives underneath the public persona.”
“Why?”
Because you listen. Because you look at me like I have something interesting to say. Because you don’t flinch from my sharp edges. That’s what I think, but it’s not what I say.
“Because you let me challenge you,” I say instead. It’s still the truth, just a different one.
A flicker of something, respect, maybe, crosses his face. “I don’t want to spend time with someone who agrees with me all of the time.”
“Good. You’d be bored within a week.”
“Within a day.”
I smile. “I’d stage a protest.”
“I’d invest in it.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re something else.”
“And yet,” he murmurs.
And yet …
