He nods, stirring absently. “You already eat?”
“No.”
“Good.” He pauses. Just long enough to be deliberate. “I ran into Ivy today.”
There it is.
I don’t look at him. I don’t slow down. I move to the fridge, open it, and scan the shelves I already know by heart.
“Oh?” I say lightly.
Drew waits until I grab a bottle of water and straighten. He’s cataloging the micro-changes I’ve spent years perfecting how to hide.
“Yeah,” he says. “Grocery store. Produce aisle.”
I lean back against the counter. “You shop now?”
“I buy food for me,” Drew says. “That’s different.”
He pauses for a moment, and I can tell by the tense set of his shoulders that he’s about to say something I’m not going to like.
“She asked about you.”
My jaw tightens just a fraction.
“And?” I ask.
Drew sets the spoon down and finally faces me fully. “I told her you’ve been busy. Focused.”
My hand tightens around the water bottle. That word again.
“Accurate,” I reply.
He studies me too closely for my liking. “She said something else.”
I wait, not saying anything.
“She said when you start pushing people away, it’s usually because something matters more than you want it to.”
Of course, she noticed that. Too damn perceptive for her own good.
I laugh once. Sharp. Controlled. “Did she?”
“Yes.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “And she didn’t say it like a criticism.”
I push off the counter. “You don’t know her.”
“I know,” he agrees. “That’s what’s bothering me.”
I lift the bottle of water and take a slow drink. The silence stretches. He lets it.
He’s learning how to wait me out.
“She also said,” Drew continues carefully, “that she wasn’t going to overwhelm you.”
My fingers curl around the bottle, squeezing it.
“She said she was giving you space.” He exhales. “Which—considering everything—feels… intentional.”
