She'd been at the cabin for a week, and Tank still woke up surprised to find her there.
Her toothbrush in the bathroom. Her jacket on the hook by the door. Her boots lined up next to his by the workbench, smaller, neater, like they belonged there. She'd insisted on sharing the bed after the third night on the couch — `You're not sleeping on that thing again,'' she'd said, and he'd given up arguing, the way he was learning to give up arguing with her about everything.
He lay on the far edge of the mattress now, still and rigid, a foot of space between them like a line he wouldn't cross. She slept curled on her side, one hand under the pillow, her breathing slow and even.
He'd told himself the bed would be the last wall. The distance he kept even when she was three inches away. Every nigh
