I pour myself coffee and lean against the counter, and watch him work. His focus is complete. His fingers are moving across the keyboard, and occasionally making notes on a pad beside him.
My phone buzzes.
Luke: You two okay?
Me: Yeah. We're good.
Luke: Ethan still there?
Me: He's working. Conference call.
Luke: Tell him I said good luck with that.
I glance at Ethan. He's talking now, something about security protocols. Professional. Competent. Nothing like the man who held me last night while I fell asleep.
The call lasts forty minutes. When he finally closes the laptop, he looks tired.
"Coffee's cold," I say, taking his mug. "I'll make fresh."
"Thanks."
I pour new cups for both of us. Sit across from him at the table.
"Luke texted," I tell him.
"Yeah?"
"He's checking on us. Making sure we're okay."
"What'd you tell him?"
"That we're good."
Ethan nods. Drinks coffee. "We should probably have dinner with him. The three of us. Clear the air completely."
"You think that's necessary?"
"I think it'll help. Make things feel normal again."
Normal. I'm not sure what normal looks like anymore. But dinner with Luke might be a start.
"Okay. I'll text him."
I do. Luke responds immediately.
Luke: Tonight work? My place. I'll cook.
Me: You can't cook.
Luke: I can grill. That counts.
Me: Fine. What time?
Luke: Seven.
I show Ethan the exchange. He smiles. "Grilling. Very Luke."
"He's trying."
