I laugh. "That's very on-brand for you."
"Seat of the pants." He says it lightly, but his gaze stays serious. "Sam. I'm not going anywhere."
"I know."
He kisses my forehead. Then he steps back, letting his hands fall away, and moves toward the kitchen.
I stay where I am for a moment, still standing by the window, watching him pull a pot from the cabinet and pour oil into the bottom.
My phone is on the couch. I could check my email. Confirm the site walk time.
I don't.
I walk to the kitchen instead and lean against the counter next to him, close enough that our shoulders brush. After a moment, I rest my hand on his lower back while he shakes the pot.
Tom glances over, eyebrow raised. "You supervising?"
"Making sure you don't burn it."
"I never burn popcorn."
"There's a first time for everything."
He grins, shaking the pot over the burner as the kernels start to pop. The sound fills the small kitchen. It’s oddly comforting.
I watch him work. His hands are steady. His focus is complete, even on something as simple as popcorn.
The popping slows. Tom lifts the pot off the heat and pours the popcorn into a bowl, shaking salt over the top.
"Here." He hands me the bowl. "Quality control."
I take a piece. It's perfectly done—crisp, salty, warm.
"Not bad," I admit.
"Told you."
We move back to the couch. Tom closes out his photography video and queues up something new on his laptop—a documentary about urban renewal projects in Detroit. Something for me. We sit, shoulders touching, sharing the popcorn, while the documentary plays and the city settles into night outside his window.
At some point, I realize my head is on his shoulder. His arm is around me. My phone is still on the other side of the couch, screen dark.
I don't move.
Tom's hand rests on my shoulder, his thumb tracing small, absent circles against my sleeve.
I close my eyes.
I'm not thinking three steps ahead. I'm not mapping contingencies or building exit strategies.
I'm just here.
And so is he.
Chapter twenty-nine
Tom
The drill bit catches on the drywall anchor and the bracket shifts half an inch to the left. I exhale through my nose, back the screw out, realign.
