Four days after they brought the eight captives out of Rocko’s building, Ezekiel reached for a cup on the upper shelf without thinking about his arm.
Serena noticed.
She noticed most things about him now: the hesitation before he answered a call from his cousin, the way he read a message twice when it came from Crystal, how he sometimes touched the edge of his bandage even after he no longer needed it.
This time, his hand came down with the cup.
No flinch. No muttered complaint.
“Better?” she asked.
He looked at his arm as though it belonged to someone who had recently become more cooperative.
“Mostly.”
“That is a more convincing answer than your usual one.”
“It’s the same answer.”
“Your face is finally agreeing.”
The wound had closed well. Tenderness remained when he stretched too far, and he still favored the arm when lifting anything heavy, but the stiffness that had governed his movements was easing.
Serena had stopped pretending not to watch.
He set the cup beside hers.
“You checking on me or supervising?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
She smiled into her tea.
The boxes had begun to disappear.
Not all of them. One beside the hallway contained cables Ezekiel insisted were important, despite being unable to explain what several connected to. Another held framed pictures wrapped in an old towel.
Serena had found the pictures while looking for something else.
She had asked before opening them.
Now they stood on a shelf.
There was a photograph of Ezekiel as a boy, smiling with the reckless confidence of someone who had not yet learned to dislike being photographed. Big D stood beside him, smaller than Serena had expected and already trying to appear larger.
She had spent a considerable time enjoying it.
Ezekiel threatened to put the picture away.
She moved it higher.
Another showed him with his cousin. She recognized the voice before she met the person; it had filled his phone often enough during the past several days.
When they finally spoke together, Serena discovered that Ezekiel’s tendency to answer concern with irritation was neither new nor particularly convincing to his family.
Afterward, he asked what they had said about him.
“Many things.”
“Like what?”
“I was sworn to discretion.”
“You were on the phone for six minutes.”
“A productive six minutes.”
He had tried to take the phone.
She held it beyond his reach without rising from her chair.
That had been yesterday.
Today, the same chair held her folded cardigan, and there were two kinds of tea in the cupboard because she disliked the first one he bought.
She was beginning to leave evidence of herself.
The realization pleased her.
Then, sometimes, it hurt.
Her ruined gown remained wrapped on the bedroom shelf. The photograph of Casa Val was in the folder beside it. She had not mistaken a few quiet days for an ending.
She kept returning to the drawing and photograph, trying to remember something beyond the wall that might help Crystal find the house.
But she could sit in Ezekiel’s kitchen and laugh.
She was learning to allow both.
They went out that afternoon for groceries and a small lamp.
Serena had decided the bedroom needed one.
Ezekiel said there was a ceiling light.
She asked whether he also believed one chair should be sufficient for an entire house.
He conceded the lamp.
Outside, she knew more of the street than she had a week earlier. The bakery woman recognized her. She could find the corner shop without directions and knew which crossing gave them enough time to reach the other side without Ezekiel complaining about the signal.
Her phone was no longer an object she handled as though it might develop an opinion.
She had Crystal’s number.
She had called her twice without asking Ezekiel to sit beside her.
These were small things. They mattered.
At the market, a woman moved past them carrying flowers wrapped in brown paper. Serena turned to look.
Ezekiel followed her gaze.
“Want some?”
“Where would we put them?”
“Probably in water.”
She gave him a patient look.
“I understand the principle.”
He grinned.
They bought a small bunch.
On the way home, Serena slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.
His steps slowed.
“The other one,” she said, before he could object.
“I noticed.”
She had chosen his uninjured side.
For several paces, he seemed uncertain what to do with the contact. Then his arm relaxed beneath her hand.
She drew a little closer.
He looked down at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That is a poor answer.”
“It’s the one I’ve got.”
She let him keep it.
The bag in his other hand brushed against his leg as they walked. Her pale fingers rested easily on the dark fabric at his elbow.
At the next crossing, he moved to the outside edge of the pavement without interrupting their conversation.
Serena noticed that too.
The flowers ended up in a tall drinking glass.
Ezekiel stepped back to inspect them.
“Look at that. Fancy.”
“The glass has an advertisement on it.”
“Fancy with sponsorship.”
She laughed, and he looked pleased with himself.
They unpacked the groceries. Serena stood beside him at the counter instead of taking the space opposite. When he passed something to her, she let her fingers linger against his.
The first time, he looked at their hands.
The second time, he looked at her.
She held his gaze.
He did not pull away.
By the time they finished, he had become unusually interested in arranging the empty bags.
Serena leaned against the counter.
“Ezekiel.”
“Yeah?”
“Are those going to be difficult?”
He looked down.
“The bags?”
“You appear concerned.”
He set them aside.
“You know what you’re doing.”
“Yes.”
The certainty of her answer brought a smile to his face, although something behind it remained guarded.
She reached for his hand.
This time there was no grocery between them.
His fingers closed around hers.
For a moment, she was content with that.
Then she stepped closer and rested her free hand against his cheek.
He went very still.
She remembered the first night, the fear in him when her eyes changed. This was different. His breathing had altered, but he was watching her mouth rather than the door.
“May I?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Yes.”
The kiss was brief.
Serena had meant it to be. She wanted to know how he would answer, and he answered gently, his hand settling at her waist without drawing her farther than she had chosen to come.
When she stepped back, he did not immediately release her.
She liked that more than she had expected.
Then he exhaled.
“Okay.”
Her smile faltered a little.
“An unfavorable assessment?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Definitely not.”
“But?”
His hand loosened at her waist.
“We should talk.”
Serena folded her arms.
Ezekiel looked at the change in her posture.
“Not like that.”
“You have become very serious for someone who approved.”
“I did approve.”
“Then perhaps begin there.”
He gave a small, helpless laugh.
“I liked it.”
“Good.”
“I like you.”
The answer caught her off guard despite everything she had done to invite it.
Her arms relaxed.
He saw that and became more careful.
“I just need you to know you don’t owe me this.”
She looked at him.
“For what?”
“For getting you out. For staying here. Any of it.”
“I know.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
She waited.
The kitchen was quiet except for the refrigerator. Outside, someone shut a car door.
Finally, he said, “Sometimes I feel guilty.”
Her expression changed.
“Because of me?”
“Because I like having you here.”
She did not understand.
He glanced toward the hallway.
“You lost your mother. Your home. Everything was one kind of life, and then suddenly you’re stuck learning all this other shit with somebody you met because he happened to walk into the right room.”
“You did more than walk into it.”
“I know. But you didn’t get to choose any of that.”
Serena looked at their hands.
He had not reached for hers again.
“I know about the stores. The phones. Who to call when something goes wrong,” he continued. “You have to ask me things you wouldn’t have needed help with before. And I like coming home knowing you’re here.”
His mouth tightened.
“I don’t want to confuse you needing somewhere safe with wanting me,” he said.
Serena pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
He looked at it.
“You make that sound like trouble.”
“It may be.”
He sat.
She took the chair beside him rather than the one across the table.
“Do you believe I have never wanted someone before?”
“No.”
“Or that because I do not understand your telephone, I cannot understand my own feelings?”
“No. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“I know.”
He looked at her.
She allowed a little of her irritation to show.
“But I needed you to hear how close you came.”
He nodded slowly.
“Fair.”
Serena rested her hands in her lap.
“There are things I do not know. More than I enjoy admitting. I dislike having to ask how much something costs, or whether a stranger is being kind or laughing at me.”
“You can ask somebody besides me.”
“Yes. Crystal has already explained several things you explained poorly.”
His mouth twitched.
“Good to know.”
“She was thorough.”
“I bet.”
Serena waited until he looked at her properly.
“I am grateful to you. I am also attracted to you. Those are both true.”
He swallowed.
She told him about the morning after the rescue, when he had left the bathroom light on because she was still awake but had not asked why.
About the way he spoke to his cousin when he thought nobody could hear.
About him accepting help with his coat even though it embarrassed him, and admitting he was frightened before they entered Rocko’s building.
“You do not always make yourself pleasant,” she said.
“Strong start.”
“You complain when you are hurt. You complain when you are worried. Sometimes I suspect you complain because the room has been quiet for too long.”
He lowered his head.
She could see the smile he was trying to hide.
“But I know where I stand with you. If I frighten you, you tell me. If I misunderstand something, you explain it, even if your first explanation is poor.”
“You keep coming back to that.”
“It has been a significant feature of our acquaintance.”
He laughed.
She reached for his hand beneath the edge of the table.
“And when I touch you,” she said more softly, “I want you to touch me.”
The amusement left his face.
“That is not a debt I am repaying.”
His thumb moved slowly across her knuckles.
She let the silence hold for a while.
Then he said, “I still want you to have options.”
“I intend to.”
“I mean real ones. If you want somewhere else to stay, we can figure that out. Crystal can help. It doesn’t have to come through me.”
Serena studied him.
He was offering to make himself less necessary.
The thought warmed her in a place the kiss had only begun to reach.
“And if I stay?” she asked.
“You stay.”
“If I do not kiss you again?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“You still stay.”
She looked down before he could see too much of what that did to her.
Serena traced a small scar near his thumb.
“I want to learn about this world. I want to find out what happened to my household. I want people in my life who are not you.”
He nodded.
“I want that too.”
“And I want to kiss you.”
He breathed out a laugh.
“You really don’t leave much room.”
“I have just agreed to an entire world of room.”
“That’s fair.”
She moved her chair closer.
He watched her, the worry still there but no longer filling his face.
“You don’t have to decide everything now,” he said.
“I was proposing a second kiss, Ezekiel.”
“Right.”
“Your response has become rather extensive.”
This time, when she leaned toward him, he met her halfway.
He kissed her more certainly.
Serena felt the difference at once: the hand rising to the side of her face, the quiet breath he took when she touched his shoulder, the way he stayed close afterward.
She kept the kiss gentle.
There was time to discover more. She did not need to make him understand all her desire at once, especially when she had only begun to let herself examine it.
His forehead rested briefly against hers.
“Still okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She smiled.
“Are you?”
“Yeah.”
His hand remained against her cheek.
Then she said, “You realize your attempt to give me an escape has made you considerably more appealing.”
He closed his eyes.
“Of course it has.”
“I thought you should know.”
“Appreciate the update.”
She laughed against his shoulder.
He put an arm around her.
Later, they sat together on the couch.
The new lamp shone from the bedroom doorway. The flowers stood on the kitchen table, their paper wrapping folded beside the glass because Serena had not yet decided whether it should be thrown away.
Ezekiel had chosen something to watch.
Serena understood approximately half of it and found the other half less interesting than the man beside her.
She rested her head against his shoulder.
After a moment, his hand settled over hers.
Nobody spoke about promises.
They had made enough for one evening.
Halfway through the program, a character on the screen said something that would once have made Sabine laugh.
The thought arrived unexpectedly.
Serena’s chest tightened.
Ezekiel felt her go still.
“What?”
She considered saying nothing.
Instead, she told him.
He listened without trying to turn the moment back toward the happiness they had been having.
“What would she have said?” he asked.
Serena repeated the remark in Sabine’s dry, exacting manner.
He laughed softly.
Then she did too, although her eyes were wet.
They stayed like that until she could breathe comfortably again.
She had been afraid, somewhere beneath everything else, that wanting him meant putting her grief away before she was finished with it.
But his hand remained over hers.
There was room.
When the program ended, Ezekiel reached for the remote.
Serena lifted her head.
“One more?”
“You complained about that whole thing.”
“I had questions.”
“You called the main character an imbecile.”
“He continued to justify it.”
Ezekiel smiled.
She touched his cheek again, now familiar enough to do it without announcing herself.
“I could go to bed,” she said. “But I would rather sit here with you a little longer.”
He looked at her for a moment.
Then he drew her close.
“One more.”
Serena settled against him.
For once, neither of them needed to explain why she stayed.