He stood up, convinced that she would open up to him the moment he made it clear he was leaving. Some people liked that—to have someone who wanted to listen, or even someone who was just willing to sit there. He hoped Miss Bixby would be the same, but was disappointed to find that she was unbothered by the prospect of him walking away. He paused mid-step and turned back to her, a pout now on his face.
"You're my friend, Sloane," he said, using her given name—a first, even though she'd used his before. "You don't have to simmer in your sorrows. I'd feel bad if I left without knowing what was wrong."
Bad, dying with curiosity—it was all the same.
"You're my friend, Sloane," he said, using her given name—a first, even though she'd used his before. "You don't have to simmer in your sorrows. I'd feel bad if I left without knowing what was wrong."
Bad, dying with curiosity—it was all the same.
