He shifts slightly, lifting me off his lap, setting me down right next to him. He rests his arm along the back of the sofa behind my shoulders. His fingers idly toy with the ends of my hair, tracing the strands down to my collarbone, but as the moment passes, his eyes drift toward the fire.
The conversation fades into the background, leaving a thick, heavy silence in the room.
I’ve been watching him since he walked through the front door an hour ago. He carried the food in with a casual smile, kissed the top of my head, and kicked off his boots just like any other night, but the tension in his frame is different tonight.
It’s not the physical exhaustion from a long day at the shop or the sharp, high-strung irritation that follows a chaotic church meeting.
This is a quiet, guarded stil
