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Maybe twenty hours. Give or take.
But I nodded and forced a smile. “Thanks,” I said quietly.
“In the meantime,” she said, finally shutting the lid of her laptop. She set it aside and looked at me. “You can sleep a little more. I’m making tea.”
She got to her feet and walked past me. She paused in front of me and leaned down, her eyes narrowed. Her nose was inches from my face, her eyes roving over every plane intently.
“You need more sleep,” she said seriously, her voice suddenly so, so quiet. “Food comes first, but please rest.”
Before I could reply she stood up straight and disappeared into the kitchen, humming a strikingly familiar tune.
I released a shuddery breath. My heart thudded erratically against the inside of my ribcage, the fluster all the more heated because I was still so raw from my confession. It magnified everything by ten, making Reid’s proximity jarring.
I wished she was closer.
I rubbed my cheek, the skin tingling where I’d fallen asleep on Reid’s lap, her fingers gentle on my scalp as she combed through my hair.
Reid’s humming filtered through the silence and I remembered. It was the same tune I’d sung to her on the plane when she’d been in an absolute state. My mother’s lullaby.
The soft melody curled itself around me like a cat, warm and comforting, and I tried to ignore the part of me that wanted to sprint headlong through the door. Maybe Reid was just trying to make me feel better, and maybe she didn’t want anything to do with me, but I clung to a sliver of hope.
A sliver in the form of Reid’s distracted hum as she made tea for us.
Minutes passed and she reappeared, holding a mug in each hand, her laptop tucked under one arm.
“It’s hot,” she warned, setting it on the coffee table in front of me instead of in my waiting hands.
“Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah, you can stop saying that.” She chuckled, settling back into her seat with what smelled like coffee. “Just drink it and rest up, okay?”
I obeyed, only because I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted her to talk to me, but at the same time, I was terrified of what she might say. And I had no more words to offer. For the first time in years, at least for me, the silence that stretched between us turned sour.
Awkward.
My skin prickled with the need to jump up and leave. I wanted to physically peel my skin off and might have done just that if the doorbell hadn’t rung at that exact moment.
I made to get up but Reid beat me to it.
“Sit down,” she said, her voice almost stern. “I’ll get it.”
But the anxiety had turned to frenetic energy and Ineededto get up and move. I followed after her, slipping into the kitchen to grab plates and cutlery, only to turn around and find the full spread of our dinner being laid out on the small dining table.
“Oh,” I said lamely, and Reid looked up.
It might have been my imagination, but a smile ghosted across her face as she walked toward me and pried the plates from my hands.
“Go and sit,” she said gently. “I’ll be right there.”
My shoulders slumped a little and I couldn’t figure out why, but I walked to the table and smiled as the hotel staff exited.
“What do you think?” Reid asked, reappearing behind me. “Think they’ll make it as good as your mom’s?”
For the first time in hours, a faint chuckle rippled through my chest. “Doubt it,” I said, sitting opposite Reid.
She rolled up invisible sleeves and dug in.
I was right: no one could ever really match up to Mom’s cooking. But it was still delicious, warmth spreading through my body and giving me a little more energy. It was exactly what I needed.
