“That sounds aggressively calm.”
“You like lighthouses.”
“According to you.”
“According to your face the first time I took you inside one.”
I tried to imagine it.
Stone stairs.
Glass lenses.
Reid beside me.
No image came.
Only the awareness that I wanted the story.
“What are we eating?”
“Moroccan food from the place near the ferry terminal.”
“Do I like it?”
“I have no intention of telling you.”
“Why?”
“You are going to decide.”
The request would have irritated me if it had come from anyone else.
From Reid, it felt like a gift small enough to hold.
“Fine.”
“And I bought something for dessert.”
“What?”
“A surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“You love this one.”
“That is exactly the kind of sentence you’re not supposed to say.”
He laughed.
The sound warmed the room.
I finished half the soup.
That seemed to satisfy him, though he did not comment.
We worked on the puzzle while he ate the rest of his lunch.
