...
She had agreed, but not entirely happily. Cecilia sat picking at her food--although it wasn't appalling, as she'd come to expect--with disinterest, the knot in the pit of her stomach prevailing over actual desire for the food.
It was a knot like she hadn't experienced in a very long time, and one she didn't miss at all. It was what came from saying what you felt, what you wanted to say to someone and not knowing what was going to come of it. Now was nothing like it had been back then, of course. When Cecilia thought about it, why should asking someone to be close even come near to amounting to some of the things she'd asked of a much colder man years ago? Why did this one now terrify her, make her nervous? Maybe it had been too long, since she had allowed herself to be open with another person. It would hardly have been surprising to come upon the idea that when it came to relationships she was never going to be the willful, sometimes pushy girl offering up her heart on her sleeve as she'd once been.
Yes, that girl was most certainly locked up and buried under too many layers of iron-clad self-defense. Ironically, she thought for a moment about how she'd become herself the same exact thing about Evan that had frustrated her the most. She was guarded, quiet, and rarely spoke her mind.
Until now.
As she carefully flicked her wand around the kitchen, she couldn't even find it in herself to be pleased with the fact that she hadn't managed to blow up the dishes she was trying to clean. All she could think about was what was going to happen after this.
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