(Cassidy)
Dane made dinner.
Not Claire's leftovers. Not takeout. Actual dinner, standing at the stove in sweatpants with his hair still damp from earlier, moving around the kitchen like a man who had something to prove.
I watched from the table with the blanket still around my shoulders.
"You don't have to do this," I said.
"I know."
"You're not very good at cooking."
"I'm aware."
"Just setting expectations."
He glanced at me over his shoulder. "Lower them more and I might actually impress you."
I laughed. It came out easier than I expected after the day we'd had.
He turned back to the stove and I watched him for a while without saying anything. There was something different about him tonight. Not different bad. Just quieter than usual, like he was still carrying something from
