Eleven
It wasn’t until they were standing on the street outside the unit that Grace asked him about it. “Why do you do that?”
Heron looked up. “Do what?”
“Give women drinks,” she said. She felt her irritation rising. It was nonsensical. She knew her irritability stemmed from her lack of sleep the night before. After she played not one but three memories of Davion on a loop for nearly six hours, she’d found herself no closer to getting the rest she needed. Perhaps it had been the nap she’d taken in the afternoon or the sugar she had too close to bedtime.
Or the grief consuming you, she thought.
“My mother taught me that,” Heron said.
“The ornithologist?”
“No, the professor. Whenever I was upset, or if I was studying or puzzling over my castles, she would bring me a hot drink. She sai
