Chapter 2 The Line We Crossed

I should have looked away first. Instead, I watched Harry's gaze return to my face, and the expression in his eyes made it difficult to pretend that nothing had changed between us. He was still holding a tool in one hand. His toolbox stood open beside his feet, and the air conditioner he had repaired hummed steadily above us.

"Sorry," he murmured.

I could have accepted the apology and stepped aside. I could have asked him to finish packing and leave. Instead, I heard myself say, "You keep apologizing to me."

A faint smile touched his mouth. "Maybe I keep giving you reasons to."

"Maybe you should be more careful."

"I should."

He set the tool down and glanced at the sofa. "Would you mind if I sat for a minute? I need to check the readings on my work order before I leave."

I nodded, relieved to have something ordinary to do. He sat in the armchair opposite me, placed his work order on his knee, and entered the final details on his phone.

"All fixed?" I asked.

"Unless the machine has decided to develop another personality."

I laughed. "You talk about air conditioners as though they're troublesome relatives."

"Some relatives are easier to repair. At least machines come with manuals."

I laughed again, and his smile widened.

"Do you have a big family?" I asked.

"Big enough to produce unsolicited advice at every gathering." He put his phone away. "My mother is the chief adviser. My sister is the investigator, and my nephew asks questions nobody else has thought of."

"What kind of questions?"

"Last Christmas, he asked why adults kept telling children to be honest when they spent half their lives saying they were busy."

I burst out laughing. "What did you tell him?"

"That he was too young to understand."

"That sounds like something an adult says when a child has caught him out."

"Exactly what my sister said. I haven't recovered."

Our laughter settled into a comfortable silence. For the first time since he arrived, I noticed that Harry seemed less like a stranger in my living room. He had a family, people who knew his habits and teased him, and responsibilities that followed him home after work.

"How do you handle being alone?" I asked before considering whether the question was too personal.

His expression changed slightly. "Depends on the kind of alone. Sometimes I enjoy the quiet. Other times, I turn on the television just to hear another voice."

I looked toward the screen. "I suppose I'm guilty of that."

"Does it help?"

"Until the programme ends."

Our eyes met, and neither of us immediately looked away. I lowered my gaze to the cushion beneath my hand, suddenly aware that I had told him something I rarely admitted aloud.

Harry leaned back. "I think people get used to being needed. When everyone goes to bed, they don't always know what to do with themselves."

The words struck closer than I expected. I thought of the children's school bags waiting by the door, the meals I prepared, and the calls I fitted around Andrew's work schedule. I loved my family, but sometimes I wanted a conversation that did not end because someone needed something from me or because a meeting was about to begin.

"Perhaps we need to learn how to enjoy our own company," I said.

"Perhaps. Though I'm not convinced talking to the refrigerator counts as a social life."

I laughed so hard that I had to cover my mouth. Harry laughed with me, and when I looked up, his eyes were already on mine. The smile remained on his face, but something quieter passed between us before he glanced away.

He told me that his work could become exhausting during summer. He had once missed his mother's birthday dinner because a late call had turned into an emergency repair. By the time he finished, his family had gone home.

"I sent flowers the next day," he said, "but my mother reminded me that flowers don't eat dinner with you."

"She sounds like a woman who knows how to make her point."

"She does. I was so busy trying to build a better future that I kept missing the people who were already in my life."

His admission silenced me. He glanced at the television. "Is that the film you were watching earlier?"

"Yes. It's ridiculous, but entertaining."

"Then I should probably leave before it teaches me anything."

I smiled, though the thought of him leaving brought an unwelcome disappointment. "You don't have to rush. Your work is finished."

The moment I said it, I wished I could take the words back.

He studied me for a second, then looked at his work order. The film continued behind me, and the heroine finally stopped arguing with the man she had been trying to avoid. Their conversation softened. He reached for her hand, and she hesitated before drawing him closer.

I reached for the remote, but Harry spoke first.

"I didn't come here expecting this."

"Neither did I."

He set the tool on top of his toolbox. "I should finish up and go."

I nodded. "You should."

Yet I did not move aside, and he did not immediately leave.

His lingering gaze made me acutely aware of my breasts beneath the light blouse. Knowing he had noticed them made my face burn. I glanced at the hallway, where Andrew's photograph stood on the mantelpiece, his arms wrapped around Divan and Michelle during our last family holiday.

My husband loved us and had never given me reason to doubt him. I had no excuse for what I was feeling.

"You're married, aren't you?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

He glanced at the photograph. "I thought so."

"You have a family," I said, hoping the words would restore the boundary between us.

"I know."

"Then finish your work and go."

"You're right."

He began putting his tools away. I watched him close the compartments of his toolbox, each click sounding louder than it should have. I should have felt relieved. Instead, I wanted him to say something that would keep the conversation alive.

He lifted the toolbox. "Thank you for letting me work in peace."

"I didn't do anything."

"Not everyone does."

"What does that mean?"

"Some people want you to solve their problems. Others just want someone to listen. You seemed happy to let me work."

"I was watching a film."

"I noticed." His eyes flicked toward the screen. "It looked like the kind of film that makes sensible people reconsider their lives."

He took a step toward the door.

"Harry."

He turned. I had no sensible question to ask, only a restless feeling I couldn't quiet.

"Are you always this quiet?" I said.

"Only when I don't know what to say."

"What don't you know how to say now?"

His smile disappeared, and our eyes locked for several seconds. “You're beautiful,” he said.

I should have pretended I hadn't heard him, but those words sent a shockwave down my spine. The moaning from the screen intensified the feelings I was struggling to resist. Before I could reconsider what I was about to do, I crossed the space between us and kissed him.