Chapter Twelve
The pot pie is only barely burnt, and I make sure to sprinkle lots of the expensive cheese over the worst parts, and then it’s fine. I dish it out, crack open the beers, and soon Zenny and I are sitting at the small table by the window, looking out over the darkening city.
“It’s strange,” Zenny says, after blowing on a forkful of pie to cool it off. “Even though it was uncomfortable to talk like that, I feel really good right now. Like I’ve just exercised or something.”
I was very busy staring at the little creases in her lips as she put them together to blow, and it takes me a minute to answer. “I agree. I’m glad it didn’t scare you off.”
“I’m not easily scared,” Zenny says as she takes a bite, and I watch the slow slide of the fork’s tines between her lips, the fl
