“London.”
We come across a vacant bench, and Elijah motions toward it. I take a seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs as he casually settles back. “I want to know things about you,” hesays.
“Depending on what it is, I may tellyou.”
He subtly shakes his head. “Some things can’t be told, only learned.” He pauses a moment, and I feel like he’s hesitating. “What’s something youhate?”
“What kind of question is that?” Ilaugh.
“I can learn more about you from the things you hate than I can the things you love.” His eyes narrow. “You’re very closed off; you knowthat?”
I’m a little taken aback by his accusation. “I barely knowyou.”
“I hate the cello,” he says abruptly, almost like he needs to get itout.
“Then why do you keep one in yourapartment?”
His jaw tics and his brows pull in. “Because I always need to remember what I never want tobecome.”
A gust of wind rustles the leaves above us. The sunlight scatters over his face like tiny gems. He’s certain and beautiful, but there’s something eating away inside him that I feel no luxury could ever fill. And just like that, I’m overwhelmed with a need to know what makes this mantick.
“Your turn,” hesays.
There is only one thing I hate, and I’ve told few people about that. I could say I hate snakes or spiders, reality TV, but part of me wants to revel in the freedom of not knowing this man, of being able to tell him things and knowing that in a month’s time, it won’tmatter.
“I hate thestars.”
“Why?”
“Because they remind me that some people won’t love you no matter how hard you wish on them.” My chesttightens.
Manhattan is the first place I’ve lived where I don’t have to see the stars. As beautiful as they are, they remind me of my father—the one man whose love I should never have had to fight for. I stare straight ahead, afraid to look at Elijah. I don’t know why, but it terrifies me that I allowed him to see how vulnerable I reallyam.
He sweeps my hair to the side. “We can lock the monsters away where they can’t hurt us, but whenever we let them out, they’ll tear us to pieces. And sooner or later, we must let themout.”
“That’sprofound.”
“I’ve spent a long time trying to make sense of things that shouldn’t makesense.”
The depth I believe this man possesses terrifies me. I’m certain if he looks at me long enough, he’ll see every bruise, every fissure, and he’ll too easily make meweak.
He settles against the bench, releasing a hard breath. “Did you always want to be a marriagecounselor?”
“No. Refereeing adult relationships was not what I daydreamedabout.”
“So, at one point, youdidhave fantasies?” His lipsquirk.
“Fantasies about life, yes. When I was younger, I wanted to be a journalist and travel the world.” Ilaugh.
“Why didn’t you pursuethat?”
“It wasn’t a safecareer.”
“And now you have a safe job, but does it make youhappy?”
“No.” Isigh.
“Happiness is the most valuable thing in life. You should give freelance journalism atry.”
