Meaghan was so lost in her heartbreak that it took her a moment before she registered his hand on her knee, that he was talking to her. It was terrible, but she liked how his hand felt on her leg. It was the first time he'd ever touched it, as far as she could remember. It startled her into silence, though the tears still flowed, unbidden. She couldn't stop them if she tried. His words sounded forced, and to her ears, far away, like she were listening to them through the echo of a seashell. She thought of her little cottage in Portree and wished she were there right now. That she'd never left. That she'd stayed alone in her bed with a bottle of pink wine and her cats all those months ago. Loneliness by itself couldn't hurt like this, could it? She wasn't sure if it was disappointment, hurt, or embarrassment that was the worst feeling, but they were all vying for a place in her chest. Her stomach was roiling.
"How is it not so bad, Charlie?" she asked at last, shaking her head. "You're...I just thought we..." There was nothing to say, she didn't know why she was still talking. Nothing she was going to say was going to change his mind from thinking she wasn't worth it.