“Ophelia,” Atticus called out.
I was in the kitchen chowing down on dinner while talking to Amara as she washed dishes.
“In here.”
He stopped at the doorway and stared at me. My brow furrowed as I tilted my head to the side. I looked all around me, trying to figure out what he was staring at. There wasn’t some pile of food around the stool, or crumbs sprinkled around the counter. I glanced at Amara, who refused to acknowledge me, but there was a smile playing on her lips as she washed a pot.
“Okay, what?”
He cleared his throat, and his brain seemed to kick back into action. Weird.
“Amara,” he greeted.
“Atticus.”
“Why are you not at the table?” he asked.
Was that why he was so confused? “I was lonely, so I came closer to talk to Amara.”
“You’re interrupting her work.”
I rolled my
