Page 93 of From Air

“I think the only person you should worry about disappointing is yourself.”

He doesn’t respond.

Not at lunch.

Not for the rest of the night.

We skip dinner and fall into bed early to earn more roses.

“Would Edith be okay with me visiting her?” I ask, dressing the following morning.

Fitz glances up from packing his bag. “She’d probably like that.” He returns his attention to the bag, zipping it.

“I won’t ask about her past.”

About your past.

He shrugs. “She doesn’t remember anyway.”

“Does she ask about it?”

“Sometimes.” He tosses his bag by the door.

I shove my feet into my ankle boots. “So she must know about some of it.”

“She knows enough.”

Tucking in the front of my white blouse, I narrow my eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

“She’s been given a chance to live the rest of her life in peace. So I tell her things that are a little less awful.”

“You lie?”

“I’ve softened the hard truth.”

Does he know how badly I want to beg him for that hard truth? How difficult it is for me to bite my tongue? How much I want to nudge him for more? Staying on my side of the line is slowly killing me because he’s unknowingly making me fall irrevocably in love with him.

“Fitz, you can tell me anything. Okay? I won’t judge. I won’t push for more. I can be an idle listener if you ever need to let go of anything.”

“I let it go.” He crosses his arms—the opposite of letting anything go.

“Here.” I wrap the bracelet I made around his wrist. “It’s not a tissue rose, but it’s the best I can do.” After threading the button through the loop, I glance at him.

Tension eases from his body, and he finds a smile for me. “I’m glad I came.”

“You came a lot.”

He shakes his head despite his grin. “Perv.”

I laugh. “I’m glad you visited me. It was unexpected. Possibly the best surprise I’ve ever had.”

“That’s just sad for you.”

Oh, Fitz ... it’s not sad at all.

I rest my hands on his chest. “Take care. Okay?”

He nods several times. And it would be easier to keep my shit together if he didn’t slide his hand along my neck, fingers brushing my tattoo. My hand drifts from his chest to the side a few inches, over his tattoo.

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