Page 11 of When The Noise Stops

"I'm good."

"Beer? Pretty sure there's some lukewarm IPA behind the oat milk."

Did I look like I drank IPA? Before walking back into the kitchen, she said, "Water's fine."

She made a face.

"You're no fun."

"I'm plenty fun."

"Prove it. Take a shot with me."

She waited for my response, but I just watched her pour herself a glass of wine, watched her take a sip, watched her tongue dart out to catch a drop on her lip.

She caught me looking. Smirked.

"Eyes up here, Grizz."

I looked away. Felt heat creep up the back of my neck.

"Shot or nah?" She had picked up a bottle of whiskey from the table next to her sofa, eyebrow raised.

"No," I shook my head.

"I think I need to keep my wits about me with you."

Her head dropped back. She laughed louder, and made her way back to the kitchen.

Dinner was steak, medium rare, seasoned with something I couldn't name. The potatoes were roasted with rosemary and garlic. There was a salad on the side with a vinaigrette that had a little kick to it.

I couldn’t believe she'd made all of this. For me.

"Why?" I asked, halfway through the steak.

"Why what?"

"Why all this?" I gestured with my fork.

"The food. The dinner. The cake pops. You don't know me."

She set down her wine glass. Looked at me for a long moment.

"I know you sat with me," she said quietly.

"When I was at my worst. I know you didn't leave. I know you let me fall asleep on you." She shrugged.

"That's more than most people have ever done for me."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I know," she smiled.

"But I'm going to do it anyways."

We ate in comfortable silence after that. Music played in the background. The candles flickered. And I realized that I hadn't felt this at ease in years.

When dinner was done, I helped her clear the plates before she made me sit. This time the silence wasn't comfortable. A song came on.