I walked into the kitchen slowly, my steps lighter than they should’ve been, like my body hadn’t fully caught up with me yet.
Adrian stood by the stove, his back to me, shoulders relaxed as he stirred something in a pot. The smell hit me instantly, warm, spicy, and comforting. My stomach twisted again, louder this time, impatient.
I cleared my throat.
He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m almost done,” he said easily. “Can you get the drink from the bar?”
“What drink should I bring?” I asked, already regretting opening my mouth.
He shrugged. “Your choice.”
Of course.
I didn’t want to talk. I didn't want to eat. Didn’t want to drink with Adrian of all people.
But my body disagreed with all of that.
I needed food. And I needed my head quiet. Sleep felt impossible without something to k
