He towered over her when he stood up. Summer fell back a step, not frightened, but so she didn’t have to crane her neck so hard to look up at him. “I don’t know who to be if I don’t know what you want,” she told him.
He watched her for a moment, slightly astonished. “Don’t be anyone but yourself,” he tells her, feeling himself lean in to chase her lips.
A few short steps sufficed to bring her close to him, without the table in the way. “I’m afraid of being myself, Mordred,” Summer whispered.