“Where would you sleep?”
“Upstairs.”
His face tightened.
“Too far.”
He answered before he could think.
We both heard it.
Noah looked startled.
I stayed perfectly still.
He tried again. “I mean, if I need help.”
“I can sleep nearby.”
“Where?”
“On a cot.”
“That sounds awful.”
“I’ve slept in a hospital chair for three weeks.”
“You keep saying that like it’s impressive.”
“It is not.”
He stared at me.
“What was our room like?”
“Small. Windows facing the harbor. The floor slopes.”
“Which side of the bed was mine?”
“The side near the window.”
“Why?”
“You liked the air.”
“And you?”
“I liked being between you and the door.”
His expression changed.
“Why?”
“Habit.”
“From what?”
“Nothing dramatic. I sleep lightly.”
