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Andrew managed a nod, his eyes becoming mistier. He could feel his bottom lip starting to quiver and pulled it in between his teeth in order to stop it.

Edwin touched his cheek. “More precisely, though, I need some time to think. But I promise that, no matter what, I will come back tomorrow. I’ll still help you with your business. For however long you need.”

“I’m sorry.” Andrew sniffled. “I’m sorry for whatever I did.”

“It wasn’t anything you did,” Edwin said, his brows pinching. “It’s me.”

“It can’t be,” Andrew said. “You’re perfect.”

Edwin let out a fast breath through his nose, almost a laugh, and smiled a little.

“I am far from perfect,” he said, his small smile falling away. “I keep hurting you.”

“I’m the one who hurt you, it seems,” Andrew said. “I promised you that what we have is enough. But I just pushed for more.”

“You weren’t pushing,” Edwin said. “I pulled away.”

Andrew hung his head. “Either way, I feel like I’m losing you.”

“You’re not losing me,” Edwin said. He lifted up onto the balls of his feet and placed a soft kiss on Andrew’s lips. “But I need to figure out some things.”

Andrew sniffled again, barely keeping himself from crying.

“Do you still want us to be . . . something?” he asked.

“I do,” Edwin replied without hesitation. He kissed Andrew once more and then smiled sweetly. “I still like you. I promise.”

Andrew let out another trembling breath and nodded.

Edwin pressed one more, fast kiss to Andrew’s lips.

“See you tomorrow, Andrew.”

He turned and left.

Chapter Seventeen

Edwin

Edwin came home to find Agnes finishing up the repair of a client’s petticoat in the front room. He shivered from the change in temperature, his hands still stiff from being exposed to the bitterly cold wind, and he waited for the feeling to pass before beginning to remove his overcoat and hat. Agnes stayed focused on her work, her eyes fixed on the seam she was mending. After Edwin hung up his coat, he started over to her.

“Anything I can help with?” he asked.

“Only if you want to finish the hat I started to crochet.”

Edwin’s first instinct was to wrinkle his nose. Out of all the seamstress tasks he’d helped with since childhood, he liked crocheting the least. Not only had he never met another man who could crochet, but he couldn’t help but be resentful of the fact that he had a bit of a natural talent for it. He could still recall several instances when he’d finished making a scarf or a collar or a shawl, only to then feel a sting of shame over how nicely it had turned out. He’d rather mend a few holes in a shirt or create a whole skirt than crochet right then.

Edwin was pulled out of his thoughts by the sight of Agnes rubbing her left wrist, her face pain-stricken, and he heaved a sigh.

Even though he would have preferred not to crochet, Agnes clearly needed the help. What kind of brother would he be if he refused? Besides, maybe sitting here with Agnes and focusing on interlocking threads of yarn would keep his worries somewhat contained as he tried to figure out how to move forward with Andrew. Or, if not forward, then at least not backward.

Less than a half hour ago, he had watched Andrew fuck his own hand to completion. And it had been the most incredible, most erotic thing he had ever seen in his whole life. But then he had ruined everything. Or maybe the reality of his situation had ruined everything. Either way, he was to blame for the mess they were currently in, relationship-wise.

“Edwin?” Agnes asked, and Edwin startled.

“Sorry. What?”

“Do you want to help with the hat?”