“Noted,” I say, my voice coming out a little rougher than I mean it to. “I’ll try not to get on her bad side.”
Benji crouches to toss a piece of chicken behind Bob, which Bob quickly turns to eat. I give Benji a grateful smile.
“I read this afternoon that the best way to approach a dog is to keep your side or back turned toward them, and to avoid eye contact,” Benji says. “Eye contact is considered threatening.”
“Bob finds most things threatening,” I say. “I would, too, if I were as small as he is.”
“I read up on it this afternoon,” Benji says. “I haven’t spent a lot of time around dogs, but I’d like us to be friends.”
Of all the people in this house (besides Donny, who Bob already seems to be fine with), I get the feeling Benji will have the least amount of trouble convincing Bob to warm up to him. Even I feel calmer around Benji.
Griffin wipes his hands on a dish towel. “Alright, food’s ready. Let me grab everyone.”
He moves to a panel by the stove and presses a red button. A soft chime echoes through the house, and footsteps approach from down the hall.
Donny appears in the doorway wearing a tartan bathrobe over pajama pants.
“Eden,” Donny greets me as he passes. “Getting comfortable?”
“So far, no one’s tried to kill me today, so it’s an upgrade from yesterday,” I say.
Donny’s laugh warms the kitchen. “That’s the spirit.”
Griffin pulls out a chair for Donny at the head of the table. Donny sits down with a labored grunt and waves me over.
“Come, sit,” he says. “Griffin’s chicken parmesan is legendary around here, although I suspect his cooking tonight is just an excuse for him to impress you.”
Griffin’s ears flush. “Not true.”
“Really?” Donny shakes out his napkin before putting it on his lap. “I seem to recall you also deciding to cook this dish on the night DJ brought that friend of hers from?—”
“Thank you, Donny,” Griffin says, his eyes flashing to mine before he goes back to the kitchen to get some paper towels.
Nico moves through the doorway like he’s trying not to take up space, which is ridiculous considering how much space he actually takes up. His presence fills the room before he even fully enters it, and I catch myself sitting up straighter without meaning to.
He sinks into a chair at the other end of the table and keeps his eyes trained on the wood grain. His dark hair falls across his forehead, and even from here I can see the careful way he’s holding himself.
“Nice of you to join the living.” Griffin tosses a dinner roll across the table without warning.
Nico catches it without looking up, his fingers closing around it with this casual precision that shouldn’t be hot but absolutely is.
DJ fills Nico’s glass with water, then places it by his plate.
Nico looks up at her, and something in his face softens. “Thanks, Deej.”
DJ squeezes his shoulder, then sits a couple of chairs down, next to Benji.
Donny reaches for a roll, glancing at Nico as he does. “Sleep at all?”
Nico shakes his head.
“We could try the?—”
“No need,” Nico cuts him off, but there’s no heat in his tone. Just exhaustion. I hear myself when Ray asked how I was doing on the anniversary. The true meaning behind my words.I’m absolutely not fine, but I don’t want to talk about it.
Donny raises his eyebrows, but he drops it, focusing on buttering his roll. The corners of his mouth tighten.
There are shadows under Nico’s eyes dark enough to be bruises. His shoulders are tense. What’s so wrong that he can’t sleep?
