5
Lena.
Michael was the one who asked me to come. That surprised me.
“Groceries,” he said, like the word explained everything. “I’ll need help carrying.”
I didn’t argue or joke. I nodded casually, even though the thought of being in public with him made my stomach coil in ways I didn’t expect. I wore jeans that hugged, a tank that dipped, and a denim jacket just for the illusion of modesty. When I walked into the living room, he looked up from where he stood by the door, and for a second, his eyes stayed on me a little too long.
But, as always, he said nothing.
He drove with one hand on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road and silence between us. It should’ve felt awkward. It didn’t.
At the store, we moved easily like we’d done this a hundred times, a strange kind of domestic. I tosse
