Page 16 of The Sharpest Edges

His face lights up, then falls again. He still wants the food, but she suspects he might feel even worse about taking it now that he doesn’t need it to survive. Why did she bring it up? He’d never have known if she kept her mouth shut, but nowshe’s put them in an awkward position.

‘Bringing him food, fantasizing about him, you’re one step closer to digging a hole through the prison floor to help him escape.’Lori’s echoing voice in her head provides a much-needed scolding.

“I could eat, but if you want it? Maybe if you wanna eat it later or something? I don’t need it.” He finishes with plenty of false confidence. She might believe him if she didn’t know exactly the kind of slop they’re fed in the mess hall.

“It’s a big sandwich.” She grabs the container from the mini fridge and pops open the cover to reveal the massive amount of food inside. “I didn’t have time to eat much for lunch. Share it with me?”

And that’s how they end up sharing food in the infirmary like it’s some sort of picnic. Only instead of enjoying their meal in a sunny park on soft grass, they’re illuminated by flickering florescent light and serenaded by Dean’s cuffs clinking against metal.

“How’s the pain today? Is anything hurting? Step in any toxic waste?” She offers him his prescription pain pills. “You’re almost near the end of these.”

“Feel ‘bout the same. Ribs hurt worse than my toe if you believe it. Feels like they’re taking forever to heal.” He swallows the pills and chases them with a large bite of his sandwich. “Damn, this is good.”

“I got it from this little cafe about a block away. They make the best everything. Not just sandwiches, but their coffee is amazing, and the pie, oh my God, the pie. Dean. I cannot begin to explain the pie.” She’s taken on a wistful tone, thinking about the slice of apple pie she got there last week when she realizes how inconsiderate it is to tell him about things he can’t have. “Sorry, that was rude of me.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Nah, you’re fine. Good pie, that’s something worth talkin’ about. Maybe I’ll check that place out sometime. You know, after.”

“You should.”

She wants to offer to show it to him, but that’s too forward a thing to suggest and it would feel like tempting fate for rejection and reality for a slap upside the head. He doesn’t want to eat pie at a cafe with her, and even if he did, she has no business thinking that could lead anywhere good.

They stare at each other for a beat, the moment heavy in a way she doesn’t know what to do with. She fears he can see every thought in her head written clear across her face, but then his attention shifts down to her lips, lingering only a fraction of a second before finding her eyes again. He swallows hard and a flare of heat flushes her skin, rushing from her neck down her body to rest between her legs. She ignores the urge to rub her thighs together, averting her eyes back to her food.

“Maybe we could go together?” he says. His leg starts to bounce, and he backtracks before she has a chance to reply. “Shit, I’m sorry. As friends, I mean. If you want to, but if you don’t, I get it. You can forget I said that.”

He might face-palm if he could, but his cuffs keep that gesture at bay. He does want to go there with her, even if he has trouble saying so, no matter how ridiculous and inappropriate this entire line of thought may be. As friends, she reminds herself, and isn’t that exactly what she was thinking the other day? That he could use one and she could, too. It’s all innocent and rational and perfectly fine if they’re only friends, and so she latches onto that with a hard grip, ignoring the slight, ridiculous pang at the confirmation that he has no desire for her otherwise.

“We could do that,” she replies softly.

His brows raise in surprise. “Yeah? Ok, sure. That would be good. I don’t really go out much. Always working. Don’t know any of the good places even though I live here.”

“Well, I don’t get out much either, so I’m not an ideal tour guide, but I do know where most of the best desserts live and I’m happy to show you.”

“I never met a dessert I don’t like.”

He offers her a shy smile, and she returns it with one of her own while little hummingbirds beat inside her chest, fluttering against her rib cage.

“So, how are those cats doing?” He says around a mouthful of food, changing the subject and saving her from over-analyzing every word spoken between them.

Ava laughs. She was expecting him to bring up the car, or something mundane like the weather or more food talk, but he went straight for those fluffy babies. “I may or may not have additional photos to show you of said cats.”

“Nice. This is a good day.”

He’s so genuinely happy to look at her slideshow of poorly taken photos that she responds before she can stop herself, her voice low and gentle. “Yeah, it is.”

“Where’s that one hiding?” He points at the tail of a half-hidden kitten.

“Behind the toilet. I have no idea why they like it back there. They’re just starting to toddle around, getting into everything now that their eyes are open.”

“Still think you’re not takin’ one, huh?”

She shoots him a mock glare and accepts her phone back once he’s finished scrolling through the current pictures. “That’s not what I think. That’s what’s happening. I don’tneed a kitten. They’re a lot of work. You have to feed them and clean up after them. Another one of my plants just croaked. I can’t be trusted with something more complicated.”

“Okay.” His tone tells her he’s not convinced. “You take a lotta pics of those things for someone that doesn’t want one.”

She opens her mouth to protest but closes it again and narrows her eyes with a huff. He has a point, she supposes. People who don’t want cats don’t fill their phones with cats. “Dammit.”

“Hey, no judgment.” He smirks in amusement.

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