Page 106 of Pistols & Peonies

“Joining you for dinner,” I say, grabbing the spare pair of chopsticks and tearing open the paper wrapper with my teeth.

She snorts, watching me with open fascination as I snap the chopsticks apart and dig into the carton balanced on my lap.

“Never thought I’d see the day the great Commander Kane ate takeout straight out of the box on the kitchen counter,” she remarks.

I shrug, bringing a bite to my mouth. “Guess I’ve still got some surprises in me.”

She smiles at that.

We eat for a few minutes in companionable silence, the quiet only broken by the soft clack of chopsticks against cardboard and the distant hum of the city outside the windows.

“How was your day?” I ask eventually.

“Fine,” she replies, lifting another tangle of noodles. “How was work?”

“Fine,” I answer automatically. “Got pulled into a meeting with Alpha on my way out.”

Her eyes flick up. “About what?”

“Nothing really,” I mumble around a bite of noodles. “He mostly just wanted to hear himself talk.”

She snorts. “Sounds about right.”

Silence settles again. It’s not tense, exactly. Just… strange.

I clear my throat, trying again.

“Any weekend plans?”

“Char mentioned a car show at McCormick place,” she says with a shrug. “You?”

“Thought about heading to the lake,” I reply, flicking her a glance as I spear another bite of noodles. “You can come, if you want.”

A small smile curls her lips. “Yeah, maybe.”

She drops her gaze back to her food, and the quiet stretches again. For some reason, it feels wrong. Not bad, just unfamiliar. Like now that we’ve found some sort of peace, neither of us knows what to do with it. We’re both circling this strange new version of things, trying to figure out how to exist in the same space without fighting or pushing or testing each other; trying to figure out what normal looks like.

Finally, Violet huffs out a quiet breath.

“This is weird, right?”

I pause with my chopsticks halfway to my mouth, cocking a brow. “Eating takeout on the counter?”

“No, this.” She waves a hand between us, noodles dangling from her chopsticks. One flicks loose and lands on the counter with a soft plop. “Domestic bullshit. Like we’re a normal couple.”

I watch her for a moment, trying to gauge her tone. With Violet, that’s never a simple calculation.

“Does it bother you?” I ask.

She glances away, then back again, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. “I dunno, it’s just weird. Dontcha think?”

I exhale slowly, considering.

Yeah.

It’s weird.

Just last week, we were at each other’s throats more often than not– arguing, pushing, testing boundaries. Now we’re sitting side by side on the kitchen counter sharing takeout like this is something we’ve always done.