She stood, smug as ever.
I can live with that.
“Claire,” I said as she gathered the dishes. “One condition.”
She paused and looked at me.
“You eat with me.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”
Yeah. I could get used to her propositions.
Claire set her empty bowl in the sink, stretched, and let out a quiet yawn as she leaned against the counter.
“I can clean up,” she said, already reaching for the dish soap.
I shook my head. “You could, but then I’d be up all night re-seasoning my pans.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“These are seasoned tools. Years of perfectly nonstick surfaces. One wrong move, and it’s over.”
Claire crossed her arms, smirking. “That’s right. I forgot about your strange emotional bond with cookware.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
She grabbed her medical journal from the counter and shook it at me. “Then don’t complain when I leave you to your pans and retreat to science.”
I lifted my hands. “No complaints here.”
She disappeared down the hallway, and I figured that was it. Lights out, journal reading, the usual retreat.
But a few minutes later, I heard her footsteps again. I looked up to find her easing onto the far end of the couch, flipping her journal open.
She didn’t say anything right away. Just tucked one leg under her and started flipping pages. I wiped the counter one last time, hung the towel, and clicked off the kitchen lights. I grabbed my book and headed into the living room.
She glanced up as I entered.
“Is it okay if I read out here?” she asked.
“Claire, of course it is,” I said, settling into the chair across from her. “I hope you didn’t think you needed to stay in your room all this time.”
She ducked her head a little.
“I didn’t want to intrude." She looked down.
Then she looked up at me, alarmed. "I didn't take your spot, did I?"
“No,” I said with a smirk, touching the back of the chair beside me. “This is the prime real estate. Sitting here would’ve landed you in dangerous territory.
She gave a mock-serious nod. “Noted. Next time I’ll bring a permit.”
We both smiled and fell into a quiet rhythm. Pages turning. The occasional rustle. The soft hum of the city through the windows.
At one point, I glanced up. Claire was holding the journal sideways, her mouth twitching in concentration.
