She knew he was still asleep, mostly. She didn’t move, hoping the moment would last. “Good morning,” she said when he stopped kissing her and got out of bed. “I need to get to the shop.” “Please, can we just talk?” She sat up and watched him moving around the room, gathering his clothes. He froze but didn’t look up. She took advantage of the pause. “I am so sorry for what I did,” her voice cracked. She didn’t know how to convey her sincerity properly. She knew she hadn’t done a very good job of it so far, an obvious fact, based on how angry he still was with her. “I’m sorry I drank more than you realized, but I wasn’t drunk. I’m sorry about the lubricant—I didn’t use it, and I’m sorry I acted so contrary, trying to work you up so you’d be—” She didn’t want to finish that sentence. He squirmed, his agitation on the rise, but he didn’t respond.
