"Alright," Rosie said with a nervous smile as she folded her hands on her lap. "What do you want to talk about, Cedric?"
This felt like dejavu.
Cedric had positioned himself near the tall French windows, looking out with a grim look on his face.
She was sitting on the sofa, looking at him.
He had yet to utter a word and had yet to look at her. Rosie drew a steadying breath in.
"Cedric?" she prompted. "Aren't we going to talk?"
That got his attention. He finally turned to look at her. And that was the only thing he did. Look at her.
"You're making me nervous." She was wringing her hands together in anxiety and trying without much success to remain calm. "Why won't you say anything?"
"But why are you nervous?"
She was confused at the weary sadness she heard in his voice.
"Are you..." she hesitated briefly, "alright?"
