“Because I cleaned seven windows.”
“You cleaned seven windows while angry.”
“Eight, if we count the office door.”
He laughed.
His laughter loosened the final knot in my chest.
“We should eat,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Can I make sandwiches?”
“With supervision?”
His expression tightened.
I touched his cheek.
“Not supervision. Company.”
He considered the distinction.
“Company.”
We stood together.
His balance held.
In the kitchen, the bread waited on the counter.
I opened the refrigerator and found the blackberry preserves.
Noah stared.
“You refrigerated jam.”
“I was distressed.”
“That may be the clearest evidence yet.”
He made turkey sandwiches while I sliced apples.
Noah remained beside me.
He did not need help.
He also did not push me away.
We ate standing at the counter.
Halfway through his sandwich, he looked at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
