His mouth curved.
“Owen made it. I heated it with great skill.”
“That I believe.”
Reid put a bowl in front of me, then looked at the puzzle.
“You’ve added the west dock.”
“Three pieces.”
“Four.”
I counted.
He was right.
“You don’t need to praise me.”
“I made a factual observation.”
“That is what you said last time.”
“It remains an excellent defense.”
He sat beside me.
The smell of tomato, basil, and toasted bread reached me. I tried to decide whether I was hungry.
Nothing answered.
Reid tore a piece from his bread and dipped it into the soup.
I followed his example.
The first taste seemed distant.
The second arrived properly.
Warm. Acidic. Saltier than hospital food. The bread was crisp at the edge and soft in the center.
“I like this.”
“I’ll tell Owen.”
“Don’t sound disappointed.”
“I am relieved.”
“You didn’t cook it.”
“I selected the correct container from the refrigerator.”
“Heroic.”
Reid smiled into his bowl.
His approval still affected me.
