“I think you have really nice eyes,” I say. “Sometimes I look at them and I don’t know what you’re thinking. But other times you have this sort of, almost secret look. Like you’re laughing just a little, and whenever I notice it, I have to smile, too. They’re not empty at all.” And then, before I can stop myself, I add, “I think you can see everything in them.”

She breathes heavily through her nose. Every part of me wants to move and put an arm around her, to comfort her and convince her to believe what I have to say. But I force myself to stand my ground and give her space.

“What did you mean, then?” she asks finally.

“I guess, I mean that I never see you sad, or angry, or embarrassed, or anything like that. And I just wasn’t sure if that was because you didn’t feel like you could be those things. So, I wanted you to know you can.”

“I can’t,” she whispers.

“You can, I promise. You can with me.”

“I can’t.”

I give up. I’ve said my piece, but I can’t force her to feel safe enough to share that stuff with me. All I can do is encourage her. But I wish she did. I wish I knew how to make her feel safe.

“Danni?” she asks into the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember when you told me you thought I could be good?”

“Yeah.”

“How?” she asks, her voice cracking.

Jesus. I know I promised myself I’d give her physical space, but I can’t help it at this point. It’s hurting my heart to hear her talking like this. I need to get closer for me just as much as for her. So, with my back against the tree still, I take a step to the side so our arms are pressed together from shoulder to fingertip. If she pulls away, I won’t follow.

But she doesn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, I just … I think you are a good person. I really do. So I don’t have any advice.”

She whispers her reply. “Then maybe you don’t see me clearly.”

“Or maybe you don’t,” I say. “Because I’m pretty sure I see you clear as anything, Rose.”

We stand in silence for ages, with no sound filling the air but our own breathing. Suddenly, I’m hyper aware of the sensation of her skin against mine, and the faint smell of her perfume.

“Danni?” she says. “I know they saw the photos.”

My brain must be lagging behind, because I’m lost. “Who?”

“The person I have feelings for. I already know they saw the photos of Alfie and me.”