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There’s a single lock of hair falling on his forehead, and he pushes it back with haste as soon as he’s done talking, evidently only just noticing it. It’s the most Nathalie’s ever seen him fraying at the seams; she’s only a bit too fascinated by the light catching on the chestnut strands and reflecting back silver.
He’s focused on her now, greyish-blue eyes intent on catching any breath of a thought. Nathalie learned how to hide those from him a while back, though. She lets him linger in the silence a bit more just because she can.
“Well?”
“I’m waiting for you to continue.”
His eyebrows furrow, and he lowers his eyes to his coffee, starts stirring it again. Gently. “There will be no coming back after you know everything.”
“Yes, you already explained that to me.”
“This is serious, Nathalie.”
I trust you, but I don’t know why, he doesn’t add. He never does.
“I understood that part as well.” She’s starting to get annoyed.
He looks up at her in frustration, but it’s weak. He abandons stirring his cup and leans forward on the table, darting a glance around the coffee shop.
Nathalie leans in as well. She can see flecks of white in his irises, his nose flaring. It’s too close. It’s not close enough.
“Come to our house at eight-thirty tonight. Emilie and I will explain everything.”
There are a thousand eyes on her, so she smiles, ignoring the ice block at the centre of her chest. “Okay.”