She presses her hand to her mouth, eyes watering. "Sorry. I just—I was actually hoping for a TV series marathon."
I stare at her. "A what?"
"You know." She waves her hand vaguely. "Pick a show, order food, watch six episodes in a row while slowly losing feeling in our legs because we haven't moved from the couch."
"I'm not a big fan."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Of TV?"
"Of sitting still for hours watching other people do things."
"That's—" She pauses, tilting her head. Something shifts in her expression. Less teasing, more curious. "What are you a big fan of, then?"
The question catches me off guard.
No one asks me things like this.
I can't remember the last time someone wanted to know what I like.
"Cars," I hear myself say. "I like working on them. Taking things apart, putting them back together."
Kristen's eyes widen slightly. "You work on cars? Like, with your hands?"
"With my hands," I confirm, flexing my fingers. "There's a '69 Camaro in the garage. Pietro thinks it's junk. I've been restoring it for three years."
"Three years?"
"It's not about finishing. It's about—" I stop, feeling exposed. This is stupid. Why am I telling her this?
"About what?" she prompts gently.
I exhale. "Understanding how something works. Every bolt, every wire. When you rebuild an engine, you know exactly what makes it run. Nothing hidden. Nothing unexpected."
Unlike people, I don't add. But from the way her expression softens, I think she hears it anyway.
"That makes sense," she says quietly. "You like control."
"I like certainty." The distinction matters.
She nods slowly, processing this. Her fingers play with the belt of my robe, and I track the movement without meaning to.
"What else?" she asks.
"Chess." The admission feels strange on my tongue. "I play online. Anonymous matches against strangers."
"You play chess."
"You sound surprised."
"I'm not—I just—" She laughs again, lighter this time. "I guess I pictured you doing... I don't know. Intimidating things in your free time. Sharpening knives. Glaring at walls."
"I do those too."
Her laugh is worth the world.
"What about you?" I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What are you a big fan of?"
The question seems to startle her as much as hers startled me. She blinks, then a shy smile spreads across her face.
