“I was working. My phone is on silent as it’s been blowing up all afternoon ever since the story broke.” She steps aside and ushers me in. “The press got wind of me leaving the country and then someone leaked about Kris and I. It’s been bedlam.”
“I wanted to check you were okay.”
“I’m fine. There’s no keeping this woman down,” she says, walking in front of me towards the kitchen. “Drink?”
“Coffee, please,” I say, following behind her and sensing everything about her isfar from fine.
She looks like she’s lost weight, not that she had any weight to lose.
“One coffee, coming up.”
Her voice is a little too chirpy.
She puts on the coffee machine, heading straight for the cupboard, dragging out two cups, almost dropping one as she goes.
“Enough,” I say, capturing her arms and relieving her of the cups. “Sit down. I’ll makeyoua coffee.”
“I’m fine, honestly,” she says. “I’ve been working.”
“You’re not fine, so stop saying you are. You’re wired to hell. I recognise the signs.”
“You don’t know me,” she says, flopping down into a seat. “Don’t pretend you do.”
I turn, hands on my hips.
“I know you better than you think I do,” I tell her. “When did you last sleep? Eat?”
It’s then I notice the dark circles under her eyes.
“As I said. I’ve been working.”
“Twenty-four-seven?”
Pen shrugs. “I’ve slept.”
“What? When you’ve crashed?” I huff. “What happened, Pen?”
She drops her head into her hands, her fingers in her hair. As if remembering it’s screwed up, she sits up and pulls out the hairband, allowing it to cascade down her back before scooping it up and returning it to another messy bun.
“Why are you here?” she asks, slumping back in her kitchen chair.
I watch her closely as the coffee machine gurgles behind me.
“I heard about you and Kris. I wanted to check on you.”
“Well, you’ve done that.” She holds her arms wide. “Look. I’m in one piece.”
I growl.
Stubborn woman.
She screws up her nose and plays with a speck of invisible flint on her leggings.
“Why are you really here, Elijah?”
Her tone is matter-of-fact, but her face displays a protective filter. One I recognise.
“Why?” I pinch the bridge of my nose and count to ten. “Why the bloody hell does everyone keep asking me why?” I say. “You’re my friend. You helped me out, and now your engagement is over. I care about you, Pen. I wanted to check you’re okay.”
