Talking himself into to the idea of a month apart was going better, for the few moments of peace he had to contemplate it. When Saoirse snatched her hand back, however, his train of thought was entirely derailed as he blinked and tried to process what had just occurred, just as she began to speak.
He didn't have to say what? It would be best if they did what? She didn't know if they should what? He wasn't understanding a damn word she was saying, but he knew her tone well enough that it had him squeezed in cold fist of panic. "Hold on," he managed, "just hold on a bloody minute."
Howell might have been marginally warming up to the idea of a little distance, but that didn't mean he wanted to stop seeing her. Just that maybe—maybe—some time apart would allow them to cool off and get their heads on straight, which couldn't go amiss. Suddenly, he wondered if this had been her way of gradually talking him around to the idea of breaking up, and felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck as temper suddenly got the best of him.
"I don't have to like it when my girlfriend," he emphasised the title meaningfully, rounding on her, "wants me to stop speaking to her for a month. But I said I'll do it, since it's important to you and nothing else will be different between us, and I will."
He was crowding her, absolutely, able to restrain himself from placing his hands on her shoulders, but not quite from jabbing his finger at her as his voice grew in volume. "So if you've changed your mind about us in the last minute, that's just too damn bad, because I'm not finished with you!"
Scowling deeply, a little breathless after his outburst, he shoved his fisted hands back into his pockets.
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