Meera

Meera He looked at my collarbone the whole conversation. Nineteen minutes. He ordered a black coffee he did not finish. He told me the farmhouse was safe and his sister would be there. The sister was not anywhere in the room I could see. The collarbone gaze was either rudeness or rehearsal. I do not know which is worse. I walked out with the door alarm still wrapped at the bottom of my tote and my terms still on the table. I did not shake until the auto home.