She dismisses the thought. She's vowed to count only on herself, to be nothing less than utterly independent. To never again be a burden on the person that she loves.
He wants to take care of her. He has to be cautious, though. Of not presuming too much, not being invasive, not transgressing on the tacit boundaries he imagines she has delineated. Of being better this time at preserving the careful balance of the life he has created for himself.
So she does things without him. It's the smallest of these she most wishes she could share. Here. Taste this, how just-right the ratio milk/coffee/sugar is. Look at the view in this rosy light. Look at the long shadows of fall.
She's standing by the window, quietly sipping from the cup he just handed her. He wonders if he finally got her coffee right. If she sees how beautiful this city that could be theirs looks in the light of early morning.
I'd like to be a part of her life, he thinks as he leaves. But she doesn't need anybody.
She's standing by the window, quietly sipping from the cup he just handed her. He wonders if he finally got her coffee right. If she sees how beautiful this city that could be theirs looks in the light of early morning.
I'd like to be a part of her life, he thinks as he leaves. But she doesn't need anybody.
