“Faceup?”
“Yes.”
I turned it over on the bedside table.
His gaze lingered on it.
Then he backed the chair toward the hall.
“I’m hungry.”
“So am I.”
“You can carry everything?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I intend to supervise.”
We ate at the dining table overlooking the harbor.
The burgers came wrapped in paper that immediately surrendered to grease. The onion rings were hot enough to punish impatience, and Noah burned his tongue on the first one.
I slid his water closer.
“You were warned.”
“By whom?”
“The laws of temperature.”
He glared at the onion ring.
“It looked safe.”
“Fried food rarely is.”
Marlowe stationed himself between us, gaze traveling from one plate to the other.
Noah tore a corner from his bun.
“Don’t.”
He paused.
“He looks starving.”
“He ate twenty minutes ago.”
The dog widened his eyes.
Noah looked at me. “You’re cruel.”
“He has eaten part of a leather wallet and an entire birthday cake. His judgment cannot be trusted.”
“What kind of cake?”
“Carrot.”
