The cold between us lasted through the next two days.
Leo moved through the apartment and the restaurant like a man drawing clear lines. He answered when I spoke about the menu or the courtyard or the supplier orders. Everything else got silence or a short “Not now.” The shirts stayed in my drawer. He started wearing his own again after every shower. The careful distance we had once pretended was natural now felt deliberate and sharp.
I hated it.
Tuesday afternoon I found him in the alley checking something on the Harley. I walked out with two glasses of water and stopped a few feet away.
“We can’t keep doing this,” I said.
He didn’t look up from the bike. “Doing what?”
“Acting like I’m a stranger you happen to share a kitchen with.”
Leo wiped his hands on a rag and finally met my e
