"Mostly."
She waits, giving me space to elaborate, but I don't. After a moment, she nods, like she understands that the conversation ends there.
"It must be peaceful," she says.
"It is."
"Lonely?"
The question catches me off guard. I look at her, and she's watching me with open curiosity, no judgment in her expression. Just genuine interest, like she actually wants to know.
"Sometimes," I admit.
She nods again, slower this time. "Yeah. I get that."
We finish eating, and I start clearing the plates. Demi stands to help, but I wave her off.
"You cooked," she argues.
"You helped."
"Barely."
"Sit. I've got it."
She hesitates, then sinks back into her chair, watching me as I move around the kitchen. I wash the dishes in the small sink, the hot water scalding my hands, and I'm aware of her gaze the entire time.
It's not uncomfortable, exactly, just present. Like she's studying me, trying to figure something out.
When I glance over my shoulder, she's leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed loosely over her stomach, her expression thoughtful.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing. Just… you're different than I expected."
"What did you expect?"
She tilts her head, considering. "I don't know. Someone angrier, maybe? More hostile?"
"Iamangry."
"No, you're just grumpy."
I snort. "Is there a difference?"
"Definitely." Her smile softens, and there's something almost sad in it. "Grumpy is temporary, and anger sticks. You're not stuck."
I don't know what to say to that, so I don't say anything.
I dry my hands on a towel and turn to face her fully, and for a moment we just look at each other across the small space.
After a beat, she stands, stretching her arms over her head. Her sweater rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of soft stomach, pale skin that catches the firelight, and I look away before I can stop myself.
"I'm going to change," she says. "Get more comfortable."
"Sure."
She disappears into the bedroom, and I'm left standing in the kitchen, staring at the closed door.
