Thomas turned into a doorway and then placed our luggage in a corner of the room. The iron-framed full-sized bed was pushed into the far corner, and still, the wooden dresser barely fit. Trophies from Thomas’s high school years sat atop shelves on the walls, and pictures from his baseball and football teams hung next to them.

“Thomas, we need to talk,” I began.

“I’m going to take a shower. You want to go first?”

I shook my head.

The zipper of Thomas’s suitcase made a high-pitched noise as he opened it. He pulled out a toothbrush, toothpaste, a razor, shaving cream, a pair of heather-gray boxer briefs, and navy basketball shorts.

Without a word, he disappeared into the bathroom and began to close the door, but it was off the track. He sighed and set his things on the sink, and then he jostled the door until it sat straight in the doorway.

“You need some help?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said before sliding the door closed.

I sat on the bed in a huff, unsure how to fix the mess I’d made. On one hand, it was fairly simple. We worked together. We were on assignment. Worrying about feelings seemed asinine.

On the other hand, the feelings were there. The next couple of days would be tough on Thomas. I’d pretty much stomped all over his heart because I was angry about another woman, who had coincidentally also stomped all over his heart.

I stood up and took off my sweater, staring at the broken door. From beneath the space at the bottom, light glowed into the dark bedroom, and the pipes whined as the shower spit and then shot out water in a steady stream. The shower door opened and then closed.

I shut the bedroom door and then pressed my palm and ear against the sliding door. “Thomas?”

He didn’t answer.

I slid open the door, and a gust of steam poured out. “Thomas?” I said again into the foot-wide space.

He still didn’t answer.

I slid the door open all the way and then closed it behind me. The shower door was fogged over, only showing Thomas’s vague form. The sink was in desperate need of a good scrub with limescale remover, and the peach linoleum was peeling up at the corners.

“It wasn’t for show,” I said. “I was jealous and angry, but mostly, I’m just scared.”

He still didn’t answer, instead scrubbing his face with soap.

“I didn’t enjoy being with Jackson. Almost from the beginning, I knew this was different. I can see it and feel it, but it still doesn’t seem right to me to jump back into something when I’ve been looking forward to being alone for so long.”

Still nothing.