The apartment had grown quiet now. The dishes were done, the twins were asleep, and Katherine had retreated to her room. Leonard remained in the living room, leaning on the back of the couch, arms crossed, gazing at the closed door of Katherine's bedroom.
He had felt it earlier—her tension, the way she barely touched her food, how her eyes kept drifting toward her phone.
It didn't take a genius to know who she was thinking about.
But he couldn't blame her.
He hated how much it bothered him—how even now, his jaw clenched when he imagined Felix calling her, talking to her, being the person on her mind even when Leonard was right here, present.
He sat on the arm of the couch, hands clasped together, leaning forward slightly. The lights were dimmed. The ticking clock on the wall seemed louder than usual.
He had whispered those words to her in the kitchen—half a truth wrapped in flirtation, half an admission of something deeper.
She hadn't pushed him away.
