Yes, she does, Elias almost protested, when Irene defended Daff. She had been the one who’d been cut off in the middle of a significant conversation; she was the one who had been happy to make the graceful exit; she was the one who had been here first. He ought to be sorry: he had never been very good at putting their friendship first.
But he didn’t know how to say this to her without feeling even more stupid and sorrowful about the way he’d followed Daff like that. (She wouldn’t let him do anything for her – but then what did she expect him to do? He hated this, hated having to chase her as she ran away. She had done it once before, tried to slip out of his life... But hadn’t he made it clear how he felt? About everything, about Irene? Hadn’t he tried to be patient with her, and understanding, and – what? She looked in through the window and only saw what she wanted to see instead.)
He finished his flinging the tools around, hanging up a handsaw and setting files down with a series of dull thuds and losing the twig-trimmers about three times in the process before he calmed down. Stopping for breath and leaning against the edge of the bench again, he looked at Irene properly now.
She’d changed her mind about the cat, then. (Or she hadn’t been going to ask him about the cat at all?) “Oh,” Elias said, no less bewildered than before – but he offered her an attempt at a half-smile about the sooty paw prints, grateful for her attempt at lifting their spirits now. “I wouldn’t mind,” he teased, as lightly as he could.
He still didn’t feel satisfied with where they had left things before Daffy had arrived, but he heaved another exhale and found the words for one serious question, at least. “Then you’ve decided you’ll at least go?” he remarked. The letter had said Italy, hadn’t it? That was good: Irene was going to give Mrs. Shaw and the possibility of some new family a chance. He smiled at her more fully, proud of her for that – it would take courage, but she had that – and echoed the sentiment he had tried to offer her before. “I'm glad. I’m happy for you.”
But he didn’t know how to say this to her without feeling even more stupid and sorrowful about the way he’d followed Daff like that. (She wouldn’t let him do anything for her – but then what did she expect him to do? He hated this, hated having to chase her as she ran away. She had done it once before, tried to slip out of his life... But hadn’t he made it clear how he felt? About everything, about Irene? Hadn’t he tried to be patient with her, and understanding, and – what? She looked in through the window and only saw what she wanted to see instead.)
He finished his flinging the tools around, hanging up a handsaw and setting files down with a series of dull thuds and losing the twig-trimmers about three times in the process before he calmed down. Stopping for breath and leaning against the edge of the bench again, he looked at Irene properly now.
She’d changed her mind about the cat, then. (Or she hadn’t been going to ask him about the cat at all?) “Oh,” Elias said, no less bewildered than before – but he offered her an attempt at a half-smile about the sooty paw prints, grateful for her attempt at lifting their spirits now. “I wouldn’t mind,” he teased, as lightly as he could.
He still didn’t feel satisfied with where they had left things before Daffy had arrived, but he heaved another exhale and found the words for one serious question, at least. “Then you’ve decided you’ll at least go?” he remarked. The letter had said Italy, hadn’t it? That was good: Irene was going to give Mrs. Shaw and the possibility of some new family a chance. He smiled at her more fully, proud of her for that – it would take courage, but she had that – and echoed the sentiment he had tried to offer her before. “I'm glad. I’m happy for you.”
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look ANOTHER beautiful bee!set <3