“Yes, you can.”
“No, I physically—”
“I know what you meant.” He came back and stood in front of her, blocking the path so she had to look at him. “I’m not asking for a mile. I’m asking for thirty more steps.”
“That’s manipulative.”
“It’s specific.”
She glared. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Break impossible things into smaller pieces and act like that makes them less insulting.”
He considered. “Has it worked in business?”
“I hate you.”
“Walk thirty steps and then reassess.”
She did. Mostly because she wanted the satisfaction of proving him wrong after thirty. Then she did thirty more. By the time they reached the bench where he’d promised they could stop, the sky was bluer and her anger had transformed into the exhausted ache of effort. Taylor handed her water without comment.
Later, sitting in the car home, sweat drying at the base of her neck, she stared at the windshield and said, “You’re intolerable.”
