"I'm not jealous," he said, immediately, entirely too fast to be convincing."Roman.""I'm processing information.""You're jealous."He was quiet for a second, jaw working like he was deciding whether dignity was worth the fight. "Fine. A little." He said it like a concession in a negotiation he'd clearly lost before it started. "Not because I think anything's happening. I trust you completely. I trust him, professionally, as much as I can trust a man who apparently gets to look at your work up close on a Tuesday night while I'm across town not understanding a single thing you're talking about.""You could learn.""I have no interest in humidity readings.""You have interest in whatever lets you understand this part of my life.""That's not the same as interest in the wood itself."I laughed, delighted, and didn't rush to smooth it over the way I might have years ago, some old instinct to manage his feelings before they became inconvenient. I just let him sit in it, watching him try
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