Thomas stared.
She met his gaze without flinching.
“You are already what I want.”
Silence settled across the fence.
Thomas did not move.
Margaret began to worry she had finally been too direct.
Then Thomas stepped over the lower rail.
Not gracefully.
His boot caught.
Margaret laughed.
Thomas nearly fell.
He caught himself.
“Very romantic.”
Margaret laughed harder.
Thomas stood on her side of the fence.
“Are you finished?”
“Probably not.”
He moved closer.
She stopped laughing.
Thomas lifted one hand.
His fingers touched her cheek.
Margaret’s eyes closed briefly.
“Tell me no,” he said.
She opened them.
“No.”
Thomas’s face fell.
Margaret smiled.
“No, I will not tell you no.”
“That was cruel.”
“I have waited three years.”
“Fair.”
He kissed her.
Slow.
Careful.
Nothing like the hunger Margaret had secretly imagined during more embarrassing moments.
Better.
His hand rested at her waist.
Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt.
Thomas pulled back after only a few seconds.
Margaret frowned.
“That’s all?”
Thomas laughed quietly.
“Young woman, I am attempting to behave respectably.”
Margaret moved closer.
“You’ve wasted three years behaving respectably.”
Then she kissed him.
Thomas forgot every argument about arithmetic for approximately thirty seconds.
When they separated, his hat was on the ground.
Neither knew when it fell.
Margaret looked down.
Then at him.
“You see?”
“What?”
“You survived.”
“So far.”
She smiled.
Thomas rested his forehead against hers.
“What do we do now?”
Margaret blinked.
“That is your question?”
“Yes.”
“You’re fifty-five years old.”
“I’m aware.”
“You were married twenty-seven years.”
“Yes.”
“You genuinely don’t know?”
Thomas laughed.
“I know the mechanics of courtship.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking what you want.”
That mattered.
Margaret looked at him.
“Slowly.”
Thomas nodded immediately.
“Slowly.”
“And openly.”
His expression changed.
“Town will talk.”
“I know.”
“About you more than me.”
“I know.”
“You’re certain?”
Margaret picked up his hat and placed it on his head.
“Thomas Calloway, if I organized my life around Durango’s opinions, I would have married Daniel Marsh last spring and spent the rest of my life listening to conversations about railroad invoices.”
Thomas smiled.
“Poor Daniel.”
“He’ll recover.”
Thomas took her hand.
“Slowly.”
She squeezed his fingers.
“Slowly.”