“Nothing at all. Nothing I said or did.”
Jeremy lowered his chin and his voice. “Or felt.”
There. That was the rub. Slowly, I shook my head, an apology scrunching my brow.
“I’d better get going.” He set his cup on the table and stood. “You can handle the cleanup, right?” He brushed off his jeans and picked up his jacket.
“You’re going?”
I think I expected him to offer to come back tomorrow, to read me more of Jane Eyre, to teach me to cook. Or at least to say his Aunt June needed him. Chores at her place had figured prominently in our texts.
Instead, he said, “Take care of yourself, Danica.” And then he was gone.
It sounded so final.
I spent the rest of the evening rereading all our texts. And wishing.