The meeting with Mr. Donovan wasn't so bad at first. He asked a lot of questions, and he listened intently while I answered. Spot once again held my hand the whole time. Gradually the questions became more and more specific, and I started getting more emotional. And then the question came that nearly undid me.

"Why didn't you make him stop?"

What could I say to that? Spot said sex was no big deal? I didn't want to let Spot down by compromising my hiding place? I looked down at the carpet and bit my lower lip.

"Thomas?" Mr. Donovan said, and I glanced up at Spot. "Would you leave us for a few minutes?"

Spot's eyes blazed for a moment, but Mr. Donovan held his gaze steadily. Spot looked over at me, then squeezed my hand.

"I'll be just outside the door," he said before shooting Mr. Donovan a look, stepping out, and closing the door gently.

"Ms. Fischer, why don't you take a moment to collect your thoughts. When you're ready perhaps you can tell me why you did not ask Mr. Santorelli to stop."

I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts. Then I plunged into a garbled explanation of everything I had been thinking. I told him about New Year's and the conversation with Spot, about Papa and the expectation that I would do as I was told, and about being afraid of the police. With some gentle questioning, Mr. Donovan got the clarification he seemed to be seeking.

"Ms. Fischer, we will have to talk about how to best clarify this in court. I will need some time to think about all you have told me today. For now, I think it would be best if I met with Thomas alone next session. I also think it would be wise for the two of you to clarify your own relationship before I meet with you again. I will meet with Thomas next Tuesday and with both of you again next Thursday if that suits you?" he asked. I looked at the carpet and nodded.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," I mumbled as I stood. I knew I should look up and try to shake the man's hand, but I was just too emotional. In fact, I was lucky I hadn't cried yet.

"You're welcome. Now, if you could send Thomas in for just a moment before you go, that would be helpful," he said, rising. I nodded again and darted out of the room into the large foyer where Spot sat.

"He wants to see you," I said, gesturing to the door behind me as Spot stood. He walked past me to the office, stopping to raise my chin so I met his gaze. He looked at me intently, and, apparently satisfied at what he saw, nodded curtly to himself and proceeded into Mr. Donovan's office. After several minutes he returned, his face inscrutable, and we left, walking in silence for some minutes.

"So Mr. Donovan thinks you and I should talk," he said after awhile. We were headed back toward the bridge. "He thinks you're unclear on where we stand."

"Aren't we?" I asked.

"I'm not. I know exactly where I stand. The only question is what you feel," he said, shrugging.

"You do?" I asked. Wait, he wasn't confused? He knew? Was he going to clue me in?

"Sure. I've known for months that I love you. I know exactly what I want, but I also know better than to demand it of you, especially given everything that's happened. You are young, innocent, and vulnerable. A guy with serious intentions doesn't take advantage of that. I can wait as long as it takes, and I don't want any declarations of any kind from you until you are settled and sure of yourself. I love you enough to wait for you."

He just said that so casually and matter-of-factly that I didn't quite catch the meaning of what he'd said right away.

"You—?"

"Yeah." He shrugged again, the corner of his mouth turned up in a shadow of a smirk.

"But why? I mean, I'm not tough or strong or—" I babbled, but once again he cut me off.

"You're good. That's why. You never judge, and you only see the kindness and goodness of other people. You look right past the unrefined edges and see people for their hearts. And even when those hearts are black as coal, you still manage to ask why and to want to fix it. You are the most innocent, sweet, kind person I have ever met. That's why I fell in love with you a year ago. You're also stronger than you give yourself credit for. Every time I worry that something else will break you, you come through on the other side a bit wiser and not a bit more cynical. That's a different kind of toughness, Cat."

I thought about that a moment, but I'm not sure I understood it.

"You like me because I'm nice?" I asked.

"No. I love you because you don't know how to be anything else."

"Why would anyone not want to be nice?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"And there it is. You don't even recognize your own goodness as such. You just assume we're all as good as you, and that's why I'm in love with you."

"I—wait, what?" I felt stupid. My brain was not keeping up with everything he was saying, because at that moment it latched onto the words I had now heard four times. "You love me?" I blurted out.

Spot laughed, genuinely amused.

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "And for now, we're seeing how things go. You've never had a boyfriend, and in all honesty I've never had a real girlfriend. For now we can just leave it at that and not rush into anything more."

Boyfriend? He wanted to be my boyfriend? He loved me? I didn't really know what to say to all of that, and Spot seemed to sense it because he leaned in and kissed me. Then he smirked. "That work for you?" he asked, and I just stared at him and nodded dumbly. He smirked again and grabbed my hand, leading me to the bridge and ending perhaps the most one-sided conversation we had ever had.