“That one looks like Kentucky after a flood.”
“Still edible.”
“You keep saying that like a threat.”
His mouth curves, but it doesn’t last.
There is something wrong.
I see it now that I’m looking at more than his mouth and hands. His shoulders are tight. His eyes are tired in a way that has nothing to do with the couch. He hasn’t shaved his head and there’s stubble growing there. There is a damp line across the neck of his T-shirt from rain, and his beard is wet at the ends.
“You went outside,” I say.
He focuses on the pan. “Yeah.”
“In the rain?”
“Wasn’t going to go outside in the house.”
That is Derby. Deflect with a smart mouth and hope nobody sees the locked door behind it.
I’m not in the mood.
“Why?”
He slides the half-folded pancake onto the plate. “Checking things.”
“Did something happen?”
“No.”
The word comes too fast.
Too flat.
My stomach tightens.
After last night, after Sophie’s face, after Legend’s lie, after my own mouth saying secrets turn into cages, that one little no lands wrong.
“Derby.”
He sets the spatula down.
Slowly.
Like he knows.
Like he already hates this.
“What?” he asks.
“What happened?”
“Nothing you need to worry about before coffee.”
Anger flares so fast it shocks me.
Not huge. Not screaming. Just a clean, hot blade.