The glass was still cool in my hand when I finally found my voice again.
I stared at him, unsure what to say, unsure if saying anything would only make things worse. There was something about the way his voice wrapped around the silence, too calm, too familiar, that made my chest tighten in that stupid, infuriating way it always did when he was near.
He looked so at ease standing there, hands tucked loosely into his pockets like he belonged in my kitchen, like the months apart hadn’t changed anything.
For a second, I wanted to say something mean. Something that would remind him he didn’t get to just walk back into my life like this.
But I didn’t.
The words got tangled somewhere between my throat and my pride, coming out instead as a low mutter. “It’s just milk. I’m fully capable of ge
