I glanced at her. “Dinner?”
“I told you I’m tired.”
“You’re also hungry.”
“I’m tired.”
“Exactly why food will help.”
She turned her face toward me slowly, eyes narrowed. Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door. Room service.
“You already ordered?”
I stood to grab it. “Yeah.”
Her lips parted. As if she was considering throwing me out and just keeping the food.
“What did you order?”
I gave her a slow shrug. “Something simple. Bread, pasta. Dessert, too.” I bought the food in. She pretended to be grumpy about it, and I let her.
She gave the smallest smile, but it was something. We sat side by side on the bed, two trays in front of us, the edge of her robe brushing my sleeve every time she shifted.
She picked at the pasta first, flipping open the lid like she was inspecting it for sabotage. Then she nodded slightly and passed it to me.
“You get carbs,” she said.
I raised a brow. “So that’s how this works?”
“Obviously. My hotel. My food hierarchy.”
“Technically—”
“Watch it. I’ve got a butter knife and nothing to lose.” She cut me off, while she shot me a look.
I grinned, leaned back on my hand.
She didn’t fight the smile this time. We ate in silence for a minute. The kind that didn’t sting. Unremarkable in the best possible way. It was stupid how happy made it me.
“Did you actually grow up in Villain?” She asked.
“Born here. Never left.”
“I thought Crows moved around.”
“No. Not normally.”
She was quiet again. She tore off another piece of bread and offered it to me without looking, like the motion was instinct. I took it.
“You’re different like this,” she murmured.
“Like what?”
“Quiet.”
Still, the weight of what I’d said in the car hadn’t let go of me. It was slowly eating away my thoughts.
“I’m sorry. About earlier.”
