24
The next twelve-ish hours were the most awkward ones of my life. At the hotel, Killian kept to his side of the suite and only left in the early morning, when it was time to go to the airport.
During the flight, he slept or pretended to. During the drive from the airport to my apartment, he remained quiet. I kept searching for what I could say, what topic I could touch on, to break the damn ice, but every time I turned to him ready to speak, I glanced at him, at his squared shoulders, at his permanent frown, at the rigidness of his mouth and jaw, and promptly gave up.
When I entered my apartment at noon, I went directly to the kitchen and placed a kettle full of water on the range.
“More tea?” he asked, his first words to me in several hours.
“Always.” I stared at him, a hand on my
