Page 43 of His Reckoning

“Yes.”

“That’s good.”

“You?”

“Eventually.”

He nods once, then studies me for a second. “You’re quieter than usual.”

“I’m drinking coffee.”

“That’s not the reason.”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m tired.”

“That’s possible.”

Another small silence settles between us.

Sawyer reaches for his jacket on the back of the chair.

“Moving more boxes today?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“How many are left?”

I think about the apartment again. “Uh … a few.”

“That sounds optimistic.”

“I’m trying to stay positive.”

He nods once.

“Well,” he says, heading toward the door, “try not to injure yourself, carrying them.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He pauses at the door and glances back. “Kayla.”

“Yeah?”

“If the coffee machine starts speaking Italian again …”

I smile slightly. “I’ll call for help.”

After he leaves, I exhale slowly and set my mug down.

“Well,” I say to the empty kitchen, “that wasn’t awkward at all.”

Which means it’s probably time to stop thinking about it.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about living with Sawyer Maccini so far, it’s that overthinking things tends to make them worse.

Chapter Eight

Sawyer