“That’s practically salad.”
Marlowe received the bread.
I sighed.
“You have known him one day and already ruined every boundary.”
“He remembered me.”
The joy in Noah’s voice took the argument out of me.
I watched him slip another piece beneath the table.
“Fine. But when he wakes you at five expecting breakfast, I’ll remind you.”
“He can sleep with me.”
“He will take the entire bed.”
“So you slept there too.”
“I learned defensive positioning.”
Noah glanced toward the hallway.
The bedroom remained between us even from here.
He changed the subject.
“What does this building sound like in a storm?”
“Louder.”
“Helpful.”
“The roof creaks. The docks pull at their lines. Rain hits the harbor windows sideways.”
“Do I like it?”
“You used to turn off the television and listen.”
His eyes went to the dark glass.
“Did we lose power often?”
“Twice a winter.”
“The green lamp stays on.”
“Yes.”
He nodded as though confirming something privately.
After dinner, he insisted on helping clear the table.
I allowed him to carry the empty wrappers on his lap while I took the plates. He guided the chair into the kitchen and opened the wrong cabinet twice before finding the trash can.
“Why is it under the sink?” he asked.
