Wake

Wake showed her his study, the desk of half-finished ideas. The sun was bright in the window, low in the sky and getting close to the horizon. ‘It isn’t much.’
He waited in the doorway for her. She lingered in the room holding back conversation and he watched, she liked that he was watching her, she liked that he knew what was going on but not what to do about it.
Her fingers touched the wood of the desk, old and unvarnished, making contact. Wake’s voice from behind her: ‘Why did you turn me down?’
‘I had to.’ She wouldn’t face him. The wood was hard beneath her fingertips. ‘I couldn’t see another way.’
‘You weren’t interested?’
‘I couldn’t see it going well.’
‘How hard did you look?’
‘How hard did you?’
‘I never look ahead.’
Hills clipped the edge of the sun. Her fingers lifted. ‘Someone has to.’
She heard him walking away from the door, leaving her there. The little sadness was back. She smiled and closed her eyes to the sun.
[Found this random snippet of fiction in my files. A few months old I think. Don’t remember writing it but it’s clearly mine.]