Page 77 of His Reckoning

“That’s not a thing.”

“It definitely is.”

She slides a container of pasta toward me, then sits on the stool next to mine.

For a few minutes, we eat quietly. It should be normal, except something about the silence feels different tonight.

Less awkward and far more intentional.

Kayla twirls pasta around her fork. “So …” she says slowly.

“So …”

“You’ve been weirdly composed today.”

“I’m always composed.”

“That’s not true.”

“What are you talking about?”

She points her fork at me. “You get this look when something annoys you.”

“That sounds made up.”

“It’s not.”

“What does it look like?”

She studies me thoughtfully, then leans forward slightly. “Like you’re trying very hard not to give yourself away.”

“To what?”

She shrugs. “To me.”

I set my fork down. “That’s a bold assumption.”

Kayla smiles again, and something about the expression tells me she’s enjoying this entirely too much.

“You’re not nearly as unreadable as you think you are.”

“That sounds optimistic.”

She tilts her head. “You watched me cook dinner like you were studying a science experiment.”

“You were burning garlic.”

“That’s not the point.”

I lean back in the chair. “Then what is the point?”

Kayla taps her fork lightly against the plate.“You pay attention to me.”

“That’s called proximity.”

“That’s called denial.”

“That’s a very confident statement.”