Page 36 of Silent Shadows

Still, heat flashes up my arm anyway.

We both pull back a bit.

“You first,” I say.

“No, go ahead.”

“You grabbed it first.”

“You clearly need it more.”

I laugh, sliding it toward her.

We fall back into silence after that.

Comfortable silence.

The kind that sneaks up on you before you realize it’s happening.

At some point, without looking up, she tears off half her toast and nudges the plate toward me as if it were muscle memory. I grab it without looking and bring it to my mouth. Realizing what we both did, I stare at the toast for a second.

Then at her.

She notices I’m staring, then looks down, then her eyes lock back on mine. She sets her phone down on the table.

“This is weird.”

“What?”

“The newspaper. Sharing breakfast. Silent food redistribution.” She gestures between us vaguely. “This is weird.”

I look down at the table.

She’s not wrong.

At some point, we’d unconsciously settled into each other’s space like we’d done this before. Her coffee ended up near my elbow. Her hot sauce somehow migrated to my side of the table fifteen minutes ago. She gave me toast.

Huh.

“You accepted the toast without even looking,” she says.

“You offered it.”

“I didn’t offer it,” she argues. “My body offered it. Which is somehow worse.”

I grin despite myself, tearing off another piece. “Maybe you just sensed I needed carbohydrates.”

“You’re disturbingly calm about this.”

“I don’t know what reaction you want from me.”

“Concern. Panic. Acknowledgment that we’ve somehow developed divorced-parent diner energy in under twenty-four hours.”

I laugh quietly, leaning back in the booth. “Divorced-parent diner energy is very specific.”

The waitress appears with the coffee pot again, topping us off without asking. Daisy automatically slides both of our mugs toward her while still looking at me. The weird warmth returns immediately.

I clear my throat and reach for the newspaper to give myself something to do. “So.”