If this had
been the past, if they had both been younger, Sloane would have taken his
confession as an invitation to delve deeper into his life. There was a current
between them, but it wavered, hesitant, like a flickering porch light. Sloane
felt an attraction to him, but his kids, his wife, her blabbering husband, the overwhelming
statuses of their adult lives made
that attraction an uncomfortable weight to bear, like something ill-digested in
her stomach. And yet, to not move closer to the heat felt inhuman and perverse.
She didn’t know how to be a confidant to such a person without opening up her
heart, and yet it was pointless and foolhardy, she might find a wealth of
worlds within him, but there was nothing she could hold.
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