Page 130 of The Black Table
Very beautiful.
And I realize too late that I’ve set this up.
Candlelight.
Seclusion.
A Saturday evening.
“I can’t make heads or tails of it,” she says, shuffling some ofthe papers around, “if I’m being honest. It’s probably some weird riddle again, like a Sator square, or a palindrome, or?—
I can’t see anything from where I am. I ease myself around the edge of the table so I’m sitting next to her, bumping her knee by accident, which she ignores, and so do I.
“Hmm,” I say, looking down at the text, squinting, pretending to focus on anything that isn’t the brief touch of our bodies. “Maybe I need reading glasses.”
“It could be Carolingian minuscule,” she says. “The way it’s all slanted like this?”
She points at the sheet, tilts her head again, brows drawn. “But that wouldn’t make any sense. That’d be French origin. Didn’t he say something about all the new manuscripts coming in from Italy?”
“I…”
I’ve barely been listening to a word she’s said. I’m looking at her profile, the faint gold glow around the edges, the turn of her lips.
I keep trying not to do it.
Trying not to think it.
But my resolve is wearing thin.
“Or maybe…” She trails off, looks at me. “What now?”
There’s exasperation in her voice, but it feels forced. Just a hint playful, with the curve at the corners of her mouth.
“Are you gonna keep looming like that all night, or are we actually gonna get anything done? We only have until Monday, you know, and?—”
“I owe you a thank you.” The words burst out of me like buckshot. I lower my eyes, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I interrupted. You were?—”
“It’s okay,” she says, and gives a little laugh. “Look, I’m doing it too.” She swallows. “Thank you for…what?”
“For…”
For doing all the work on these godforsaken projects.
For getting my foster brother to calm down and Lanz to relax and Callahan to say more than two words in a row once in a while.
For Friday night.
Forthisnight. Now.
“For lots of things,” I say out loud.
For everything.
And in that moment, I know. I know I’m going to do it. I know all is lost, and I don’t care.
I lean forward and kiss Gwenna Vale.
I was prepared to hold back. To press myself just to the edge of the line, commit the forgivable offense, the momentary lapse.
