“That is stupid.”
“They also think…”
She stopped.
Thomas waited.
Clara hated saying it.
“That a man who looks like you wouldn't choose a woman who looks like me unless he wanted something else.”
Silence.
The moment the words existed aloud, Clara wished she could call them back.
Thomas’s face changed.
Not pity.
Anger.
That was almost worse.
“Who said it?”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“You are not fighting anybody in a mercantile.”
“I wasn't planning to fight.”
“You were deciding where to bury them.”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
Then he stepped closer.
“Look at me.”
She resisted.
“Clara.”
She finally did.
Thomas said quietly:
“When I answered that newspaper notice, I did not know how you looked.”
“I know.”
“I fell in love with your mind before I knew whether your hair was black, brown, or bright green.”
Clara’s heart stopped.
Thomas seemed to hear what he had said only after saying it.
Neither moved.
“You…”
Her voice failed.
Thomas breathed slowly.
“Yes.”
“You love me?”
He looked terrified now.
Which made it impossible not to believe him.
“I wasn't going to say it like that.”
“How were you going to say it?”
“Better.”
Despite herself, Clara laughed through tears.
Thomas stepped closer.
“I love how you write.”
“I love how you argue with me.”
“I love that you pretend you don't care about people’s opinions and then care too much because you would never think of someone else the way they think of you.”
His voice roughened.
“I love the way your house feels when I walk into it.”
“I love that you talk to Samuel sometimes when you think nobody hears.”
Clara stared.
“You heard that?”
“Once.”
Her face heated.
“I left.”
“Thank you.”
“I know he still belongs there.”
Thomas touched his chest.
“And I am not asking you to make less room for him.”
Clara started crying.
Thomas’s eyes dropped.
“I love your face.”
He almost smiled.
“I love your body too, since apparently the whole town requires clarification.”
Clara laughed unexpectedly.
Thomas looked relieved.
He continued.
“I love that you're soft where the world has tried to make you hard.”
“I love that you take up space.”
“You make a room feel occupied before you say anything.”
“I don't want less of you.”
The tears came faster.
Thomas lifted his hand.
“May I?”
Clara nodded.
He wiped one tear from her cheek.
Then another.
She whispered:
“You should have put that in a letter.”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“Four pages.”
“Where are they?”
“Fire.”
She laughed again.
Thomas leaned closer.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“I would very much like to kiss you.”