“I stayed out of your bedroom,” he said quickly, calm but alert. “I only cleaned the front rooms. I figured it was the least I could do for your trust.”
My pulse pounded in my ears.
“How did you manage all this?”
He gestured toward the stove. “I used to cook a lot before things… changed.”
On the table were two golden grilled cheese sandwiches and a bowl of soup flecked with parsley and thyme. My exhaustion lingered in my bones, but suspicion rose beside it.
“You went through my cabinets without asking.”
“I searched for ingredients, not personal things,” he replied evenly. “I documented what I used.”
He pointed to a folded note near my keys.
