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She raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“She stopped by this morning. She brought me photographs of Kevin’s work.”
“Oh.” Her hands fell to her chest. “That must’ve been a lot, seeing that stuff.”
“I haven’t looked through it.”
“I see.”
She didn’t say anything more, but she kept staring at me. Her stares made me uneasy because they felt like a comfort I didn’t know existed. I shifted my feet and went back to staring at my pasta dish. “She’s kind. Maple.”
“She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. She actually stopped by my art class today and mentioned you to me, too.”
“What did she say?”
“She made me promise I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Well, shit, Maple.
Way to pull on my tattered and bruised heartstrings.
Stella finished unloading all her groceries and then tossed her reusable bags into the pantry. As she walked past me to head out of the kitchen, her stomach rumbled again before she headed to her bedroom.
About fifteen minutes later, I knocked on her bedroom door.
She opened it and smiled. “Hi there.”
“Hello.”
The same words we always exchanged. “Hi there” and “Hello.”
“Can I, uh, help you with something?” she asked, confused by me knocking on her door. “Is everything okay?”
“No.”
“It’s not?”
“I mean, yes.”
“Okay…?”
“I mean,” I grumbled and rubbed the palm of my hand against the back of my neck. “There’s extra.”
“Extra what?”
“Food.”
She smiled more and narrowed her eyes. “I feel like the point you’re getting to is right there, but still, I need to be guided a bit more.”
“There’s extra food if you want it. I made a lot.”
“Don’t you normally save it for leftovers? Isn’t Friday your meal prep day for your upcoming week?”
Did she watch me that closely?
“I have business lunch meetings this coming week. I won’t need it.”
“I don’t want to impose, but if you want me to eat with you—”
