I did not force more.
“Coffee?”
“Yes.”
I got up before my body could make the closeness awkward. Desire had become a regular morning complication again, which felt both encouraging and wildly inconvenient.
In the shower, I let cold water finish what restraint had begun.
By the time Noah entered the kitchen, coffee waited beside his medication.
He wore one of my old work shirts over loose sweatpants. The shirt hung loosely from his shoulders and made him look smaller than he had before the accident.
He drank without speaking.
I made toast.
He ate one piece.
The familiar morning irritation usually softened after coffee.
Today it did not.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Your nothing appears hostile.”
His gaze lifted.
“I don’t want to do the puzzle.”
“Then don’t.”
“I don’t want to watch television.”
“All right.”
“I don’t want to sleep.”
“That may be harder.”
He looked toward the harbor.
“I don’t want another day upstairs.”
There it was.
I leaned against the counter.
“What do you want?”
“To go to work.”
“You’re not cleared.”
“I know.”
