Santiago watched a concoction of emotions flash across the woman’s face and said nothing, because there was nothing useful to say to a woman doing that particular kind of mental and emotional gymnastics at his breakfast table.
Letting her have a moment to gather her thoughts, he picked up his coffee. It had gone slightly cold but he drank it anyway because the alternative was sitting there with his hands empty, and his hands needed something to do that wasn't reaching across the table, which was an instinct he had been suppressing since she'd walked into the room and would continue suppressing for the foreseeable future, possibly the rest of his natural life, given how poorly the last attempt at restraint had gone.
The headache he had woken with still pulsed at his temples. To say that h
