“That's what I told him. He was offended.”
I smile, but something aches in my chest. We're both lonely, just in different ways. His isolation is gilded. Mine is cramped. Neither of us has someone to cook for us.
Until now.
Halfway through the meal, his hand slides across the table, palm up. An offering, not a demand.
I stare at it for a long moment. He waits, eyes on his food, no pressure. I take in the way his hair curls around his neck, the steady rhythm of his breathing. My body doesn't tense the wayit used to with James. No nervous calculations about what he wants, what I owe.
I take his hand.
His fingers curl around mine, warm and steady. We finish eating like that, one-handed, neither of us willing to let go.
After breakfast, I reach for his arm. “Let me check your bandage.”
He extends it without protest. The cut is angry but clean. I rewrap it, trying not to notice how the shirt rides up, exposing the bruise purpling his ribs.
“Healing,” I say, and release him.
His phone buzzes. He checks it, eyes narrowing.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He types a quick response, sets the phone face-down. “Ethan and Logan. They got repairs started on the school. Found another location for the pilot. Hiring extra security.”
“That's good?”
“That's good.”
I start gathering plates. “I took today as a recovery day. From all the overtime I've been working.”
“Do you have plans?”
“Not really.” I stack his plate on mine. “Rest, mostly.”
He stands, reaching for the plates. “Let me wash.”
“You don't have to?—“
“I know.” He's already at the sink, running the water.
I grab a towel, take my place at the counter. He washes, I dry. The kitchen is so small we have to coordinate our movements. His elbow nearly catching my arm as he scrubs. My hip brushing the cabinet as I reach for the dish rack.
“You're going to have to move closer,” he says. “Unless you want to play catch with wet plates.”
A few inches. Reasonable.
He hands me a plate, fingers brushing mine under the suds. I dry it, set it aside.
Another plate. Closer now. My shoulder almost touches his arm.
“I have a system,” I say, for no reason except to fill the silence.
“I can tell.” He's smiling. “Very efficient.”
“Don't mock my system.”
“I would never.”
