“Mind what you say. You won’t offend me.”
“You think I’m worried about offending you?”
“Maybe. Sometimes I think you’re going to speak, and then you don’t, and I wonder why, and it gives me a headache.”
“Literally?”
Sid shrugged, unwilling to tangibly admit how often his head responded to stress with energy-zapping migraines. What was the point? Complaining didn’t change anything. And it definitely didn’t stop his hand flailing out and sloshing soup all over the counter.
Cursing, he retreated to the sink for a cloth, glad Dante didn’t seem to feel the need to clean up around him like Anna did.
He mopped up the soup and tried again.
This time he filled the bowls without incident and slid one across the counter to Dante.
Dante took it and studied it with clear suspicion. “Is everything you eat green?”
Sid laughed. “These days, yeah. All that iron and calcium is good for me, plus the protein I don’t get from meat anymore.”
“Vegetarian?”
“Mostly. I’m not evangelical about it, but I try to stay plant-based.”
“Because of your MS?”
“Yeah. It helps, massively. I didn’t think it would, but I was a wreck before I changed my diet.”
Dante dipped a spoon in the soup. He didn’t ask what was in it, and Sid didn’t volunteer the information.Ask me. But Dante stayed silent as he followed Sid’s lead with the toasted pumpkin seeds and then ate the soup, and the nagging hunch that he wasstillholding back rattled Sid’s soul.
He waited for Dante to finish, then swiped his bowl away. “Say it.”
Dante sat back in his seat, his tongue darting out to lick his soft lips.
At least, Sid assumed they were soft, even if Dante was blade sharp.
Stop thinking about his lips. For that to happen, though, Dante would have to speak, which he appeared to have forgotten how to do.
Sighing, Sid took the bowls to the sink and rinsed them ready for the dishwasher. It was still full from the night before, and he lacked the inclination to empty it.
Dante appeared at his side. He turned the tap off and pried the bowls from Sid’s hands. “I’ll say it if you let me clean up.”
“I don’t need you to clean up.”
“Maybe I think better when my hands are busy.”
It was a sentiment that Sid understood. He raised his hands and backed up. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Dante turned the tap back on and filled the sink with soapy water. He washed the handful of dishes Sid had used with undue care before he sniffed out the dishwasher. “Tell me where it all goes.”
“It doesn’t matter where it goes. I’ll fuck it all up tomorrow.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“You first.”
Dante’s lips twitched. “Why do you use all your, uh, limited resources at work and save nothing for yourself?”
“That’s what you wanted to say?”