I glance at him, but his face is unreadable again.
Fine. Two can play this game.
Except I cannot. I am terrible at this game.
He sets a plate on the table with toast, eggs, and sliced fruit. Nothing elaborate, but the sight of it makes my throat tighten for reasons I refuse to investigate before breakfast.
“You cooked.”
“I made eggs.”
“That qualifies.”
“Sit.”
I point at him with my mug. “You are very close to getting compared to a dog trainer again.”
“Sit, Kaia.”
I sit, mostly because the eggs smell good.
We eat quietly for a while. The silence is not exactly comfortable, but it is not hostile either. Zain checks my breathing twice without asking by watching me over his coffee, and I pretend not to notice.
Eventually he says, “Sleep at all?”
“A little.”
His jaw shifts.
I know he is thinking about the nightmare and the kiss.
So am I.
Neither of us touches it.
I take another bite of toast.
Cowards, both of us.
When we finish, Zain stands and retrieves a paper shopping bag from beside the counter, then places it in front of me.
I look inside.
Then at him.
“What is this?”
“Clothes.”
I pull out a soft yellow top, then jeans, then another shirt. A package of underwear still sealed in plastic sits beneath them.
My eyes widen.
There are socks, a simple bra in what looks suspiciously like my size, a pair of flat sandals, and toiletries.
I stare at the pile.
“You bought me clothes.”
