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The corner of his mouth moves. “That feels insensitive.”

“I’m establishing healthy boundaries.”

“You built it with four marshmallows.”

“I’m under significant stress.”

“You criticized my portions.”

“I’ve grown.”

Briggs releases a broken laugh.

Temple sits on the edge of the stone surrounding the fire and spreads part of her blanket across the empty space beside her. She doesn’t tell him to sit or look at him like he might break if she moves too quickly. She only leaves enough room.

Briggs notices.

He carries his beer to the fire and lowers himself beside her. Temple immediately moves the s’more beyond his reach.

“You don’t trust me,” he says.

“You ate half my dinner.”

“You were talking.”

“I still had a fork.”

“You weren’t using it.”

Temple takes an exaggerated bite without looking away from him. Melted chocolate catches at the corner of her mouth.

Briggs’s gaze follows it.

For the first time since Lyric walked away, something other than pain moves across his face.

Temple wipes the chocolate with the back of her hand. “Stop staring at me.”

“You have food on your face.”

“You had food in your beard.”

“You touched it.”

“You appeared incapable.”

Briggs smiles, exhausted and wounded but still himself beneath both. “You’re mean.”

“I heard you like that.”

His smile falters, but Temple doesn’t apologize or treat the wrong answer like a disaster. She breaks the remaining s’more in half and hands him the smaller piece.

Briggs studies it. “This portion is insulting.”

“It’s what trust currently allows.”

He accepts it anyway.

Behind us, the castle doors remain closed. Rider is somewhere inside with Charm, explaining Detroit and every ugly reason I ended up in bed with Temple. I know Charm will hear that I was drunk, angry, and wrecked by returning to Michigan. She will also hear that I used another woman’s body to try to forget hers and failed.