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His hand brushes my calf.

My thoughts immediately become unhelpful.

"Your turn," I tell him.

He picks up the other pack and presses it against his knuckles.

"Satisfied?"

"Working on it."

His mouth twitches.

Oh, I want to see him smile properly.

I want it badly enough to feel ridiculous.

He heads into the kitchen and starts taking ingredients from the refrigerator.

"What do you eat?" he asks.

"Generally, food."

His gaze moves to the ceiling.

"Allergies, Kierra."

"No. Sorry."

"Quit apologizing."

"You look annoyed."

"Thinking."

"That's your thinking face?"

"Yeah."

"Your face should consider providing a written explanation."

He shakes his head.

"You always talk this much?"

"Only when I'm nervous. Or comfortable. Or awake."

"Good range."

I laugh.

I watch him moving around the kitchen for another minute before abandoning the couch.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"To help. I'm not going to sit around while you do everything."

He gives me a look, then pulls out a chair at the kitchen table.