I stand there a second, watching her chest rise and fall under the covers, then head back toward the living room.
The kitchen light is low, with only the one above the stovetop on. Penny’s moving through the space, wiping down the counter with a cloth and making sure everything’s in its right spot.
There’s nothing left to tidy, not really. She rinses the cloth and wrings it out, then hangs it over the tap. Shifts a salt shaker half an inch. Straightens the stack of mail on the edge of the counter.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
She glances up, mail still in her hand. “Do what?”
“The circling.”
A corner of her mouth lifts, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “I like circling.”
I watch her straighten the mail again, even though it’s already perfectly stacked. Then she shifts the salt shaker back into place again and smooths her hand over the edge of the counter, sweeping for crumbs that aren’t there.
“Sorry,” she adds after a second. “I know I’ve probably overstepped a bit with all this stuff.”
That catches me off guard enough that I straighten slightly.
“What?”
She shrugs one shoulder, not quite looking at me. “The playing house thing. The dinners and the laundry and reorganizing your cabinets.” She clears her throat. “I got a little carried away trying to help.”
Something tightens hard in my chest because what the fuck is she saying right now?
“Penny.” I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. “That wasn’t…” I exhale sharply, and her eyes finally flick up. “I just meant you don’t have to earn your keep here.”
She swallows hard enough that I see it move down her throat.
“You don’t have to explain yourself, Evan.”
“Yeah, well.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I think maybe I do.”
“Okay,” she says, turning to me and folding her arms. “Then why’d you say it?”
The question lands like a rock between us, and I hesitate because I don’t actually have a good answer for her. Not one that doesn’t make me sound pathetic or like a complete asshole.
But if I were being honest, I’d tell her it’s because it scares me how fast she fits here. Because I look around my house and realize it already feels different with her in it.
And because I like how it feels way too much.
Instead, I lean back against the counter and drag a hand over my jaw.
“I’m not used to…” The words scrape a little on the way out. “Someone being here all the time.”
She watches me, not automatically filling the pause.
“And I handled it badly. When I say you don’t have to make dinner or do the laundry, I just mean… you don’t have to keep proving yourself every five minutes.”
Her eyes move over my face, then past my shoulder, considering my words before she speaks.
“Sometimes,” she begins slowly, reaching for a rag, “it’s just easier when my hands are busy. And I like looking after the people I care about.”
“Okay,” I murmur, watching her fidget with the edges for a moment. “But you’re not just…staff.”
That makes her pause, and the cloth stills between her fingers.
“Funny you should mention that,” she says lightly.
