Page 119 of The Art of Ruin

Really looks.

“I’m trying.”

“You’re doing more than trying.” My voice comes out softer than I meant it to, but I don’t take it back. “She’s happy. She’s secure. She’s wild in the way kids are when they know someone will catch them.”

His expression stills. “Thank you,” he says.

It’s quiet, but those two words are heartfelt.

I nod, because if I say anything else, I might make it too much.

He plates the sandwich, cuts it diagonally without asking, and slides it in front of me.

“Correct,” I say.

He frowns. “What?”

“Diagonal cut. Good choice.”

“That was never in question. Food always tastes better cut on the diagonal.”

I take a bite, and because I’m apparently very easy to please when recovering from hormonal warfare, I close my eyes for a second. “Okay. Fine. You can make good grilled cheese.”

“High praise.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

I laugh, and for a moment it’s easy.

Too easy.

Which is probably why I ruin it. “What about Letty’s mom?” I ask quietly.

The change in him is immediate.

The tiny pause, the way his hand stills near his glass, the careful closing of a mental door I didn’t mean to shove open.

Regret moves through me fast. “I’m sorry,” I say, already pushing back slightly from the island. “That was too personal. Ignore me. I shouldn’t have asked. I’ll just take this to my room.”

“Don’t go.”

I stop.

His voice isn’t sharp. It’s low. Firm. Tired in a way I haven’t heard from him before.

He looks toward the living room, then back at me. “Bring your plate.”

I don’t know why that feels like a choice he’s offering instead of an order, but it does.

So I pick up the plate and follow him back to the couch, feeling all sorts of dumb for putting my foot in my mouth.

The fire has burned lower, and the room is quieter than before. Outside, somewhere down the mountain, people cheer at something I can’t see. The world continues, but here in this bubble, everything feels loaded now.

He sits beside me, not too close, but close enough that I can feel the heat from him under the warmth from the fire.

“I don’t talk about her often,” he says after a while.