Duke paused once she was out of sight, to just lean against the cabinet and breathe for a second.

She wasn't leaving-leaving. She was just . . . getting something. Changing, maybe. She wasn't leaving.

He three long, measured breaths, counting them out in his head, then started setting the table. Coffee cups, plates, food on trays. The french press.

He avoided reaching for a bottle of bourbon. He needed to be sober to make sure he didn't say anything too stupid.