“No.” His voice lowers. “It is yours.”
The way he says it makes my chest ache.
Nobody has ever looked at my life like this before.
Garrett used to complain about the apartment. Too small. Too old. Too close to Halo. He treated the place like temporary inconvenience instead of home. Kauss looks at the chipped kitchen tile and secondhand furniture like they matter because they belong to me.
I squeeze his hand lightly. “Do you want tea?”
“Yes.”
“You answered that very fast.”
“I am attempting to behave normally inside your home.”
“You’ve decided tea is normal?”
“Yes.”
“That’s actually kind of adorable.”
“I am not adorable.”
“You danced with me.”
“That was tactical failure.”
I grin and head toward the kitchen nook, tugging him gently along behind me. He follows carefully, still looking around with quiet fascination. The apartment is not built for someone his size. His shoulders nearly brush the hallway arch. When he reaches the kitchen, he pauses beside the refrigerator and glances down at the colorful magnets covering the door.
One of them reads: THIS KITCHEN IS FOR DANCING.
Another says: BREAD HAPPENS.
Kauss studies them with grave intensity.
“What are you thinking?” I ask while filling the kettle.
“The bread statement lacks specificity.”
“That magnet is older than me.”
“It remains inaccurate.”
“Careful. You’re insulting family heirlooms now.”
His eyes move toward the dancing magnet. “You dance in the kitchen?”
“Sometimes.”
“With witnesses?”
“Sometimes.”
“That seems unsafe.”
“Only emotionally.”
The kettle begins to heat with a low hum.
