“Yeah, okay, maybe I should,” Reece muttered.
The waitress set their food in front of them. By the time she’d turned away, Reece had already upended both of the little silver pitchers of maple syrup over his gingerbread pancakes. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” he said, grabbing his fork.
Grayson picked up his own silverware. “I’m about to say something my manners don’t approve of. But how would you feel about a houseguest tonight?”
Reece furrowed his brow. “Who?”
“Me.”
Reece’s eyebrows flew up.
“I wouldn’t normally invite myself over,” Grayson said. “But between you getting followed and Officer Stensby sabotaging your brakes, I think everyone from the people of Seattle to the president would want me to keep an eye on you. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
Reece’s voice was a little too high as he said, “You know I’m living in Liam’s old studio now? His one-room studio?”
“I’ve slept in my truck plenty of times. I can sleep on the floor.”
“Wait.” Reece popped a giant forkful of pancake in his mouth. “Why would you sleep in your truck?”
“I’m on the road a lot,” Grayson said. “I don’t need much sleep. Easier to pull over when I do, catch a couple hours, then keep driving.”
“So how often do you go home?”
Grayson took his own bite. “Home where?”
“I don’t know,” said Reece. “You grew up in Texas, right? Do you still live there?”
Grayson swallowed. “No.”
Reece scooped up more syrup-soaked pancake. “So where do you live?”
“When?”
“When you’re taking a break from the Dead Man thing.”
“The Dead Man doesn’t take breaks.”
Reece frowned. “But you have a house or apartment somewhere, don’t you?”
“I own a house. And I have some acres in the Texas Hill Country.”
Reece’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Ahouse, singular. As in, you own one house and only one house.”
“Yeah.”
“But I know you don’t live there,” said Reece, “because you bought a house the day we met, and that was a safe house that you bought forme. If that’s the only house you own, where isyourhome?”
Grayson took another bite. “If I don’t take breaks and don’t have any sentimental attachments, what makes you think I need a home?”
Reece stared at him. “You live out of your truck?”
“You gotta stop thinking about me like a person,” Grayson said. “If your pacifism doesn’t like the weapon analogy, think of me like a robot. An automaton. I got reflexes and memories, like I’ve been programmed. But I’m not a person.”
Reece pursed his lips.
“You gotta remember that while I’m here, all right?” said Grayson. “Because otherwise, the only one who risks getting hurt is you.”
“I don’tgottado a damn thing,” Reece said testily. “But of course you can stay with me. You can have the bed; I’ll take the couch.”
