Sable

The clock on the wall audibly ticks away the minutes as I sit alone in the kitchen, agonizing over the way Dare looked at me.

My fork scrapes against the plate as I move the remaining eggs around, but I can’t bring myself to take another bite. The food I already ate before Dare came back to us has turned into a hurricane of nausea inside me, and if I eat anything else, I’m afraid I’ll throw up.

So I just finish my orange juice instead, thinking fondly of Trystan’s awkward shuffle back to the table with the glass. He was sweet then, reminding me that there’s a nice...