He was done just waiting. At least, that was what he said. It struck Wynne, as he said so, that she'd been waiting for him to be done waiting, too. And that she was tired of waiting. And the waiting for the waiting to become too tiresome to bear waiting anymore had been much too long a wait, indeed. She was sure of that at least - or, as sure as she could be in her current state of befuddlement. She was sure of it as she felt his fingers crushing her own and all of her fears and hopes and lusts and worries all jumbled up in her head like popcorn on a burner.

"I'm not a terrible person, Wynne."

"You're not." She said it without thinking, without taking her eyes from his. Her free hand left her cheek and she reached out, slow, to touch his cheek, right in front of her. She'd missed him. And now he was right there . . . she would only have to lean forward just the tiniest bit . . . just a little incline of the head and a shift of her shoulders . . . and she'd be . . . they'd be . . .Wynne jerked her hand back with a sharp intake of breath, turned her eyes down and then about them. No one was within sight. But they could have been.

"Leathan," she whispered. "You shouldn't be here."

JOEL WATKINS