I stirred the pancake batter one last time, pretending the air in the room hadn’t just shifted. Like Liam hadn’t gone quiet the second Mason’s name lit up my screen. Like he hadn’t stiffened and disappeared behind that carefully built wall of his.
We ate together anyway, side by side at the long kitchen island, with nothing but the soft clink of forks and the hum of silence stretching between us. It wasn’t angry silence. Just loaded. Awkward. Like we were both aware we’d crossed some line and weren’t sure if we wanted to step back or keep walking.
Afterward, I offered to clean, He didn’t argue.
By the time I dried the last dish, the silence between us had calcified into something I didn’t know how to fix. So I said the safest thing I could.
“I think I’ll head upstairs for a bit.”
“Ok
