She frowned. "What?"
He turned back to her. Unhurried. The specific quality of a man who has nowhere to be and is no longer pretending otherwise.
"You're closing all the doors," he said, "for me to leave away from you."
Silence.
The SUV moved through a green light.
The city scrolled past.
Sugar looked at him with the expression of a woman who has heard a sentence and is running it through several interpretations simultaneously, finding all of them problematic.
"What does that even mean."
"You know what it means."
"I absolutely do not—"
"You want to save me," he said simply.
The flush came up her neck before she could stop it.
Not a performance — the involuntary kind, the specific pink of blood moving to the surface of skin without permission, arriving in the space below her jaw and spreading upward to both cheeks in approximately two seconds.
