When they reached the front porch, they stood so confused: two long-away sailors returning.
Lyn raised up her hand, put a finger to air.
Might rain.
Yes it might.
Well, you're learning.
No more awkward than this human history had been. Ron and Lyn here, not staying, not leaving.
She worked with the weather, he dealt in textiles, his world: thread counts, pilling and weaving.
So much sped through their heads, but not through their mouths, which were two pairs of lips so unspeaking.
If but one of them said, I like who you are, then they might just start something worth keeping.
1 comment:
Ah, love it. The things left unsaid. Pretty much the premise of my novel ms.
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