After, the room was quiet.
Maeve lay on her back with one arm behind her head, relaxed and unbothered, the sheet drawn up loose. She looked like someone who had gotten precisely what she came for and had no second thoughts about any of it.
James lay next to her on his back, staring at the ceiling, quiet in a different way. He was still putting the last hour somewhere in his head and the slot for it didn't fit cleanly.
Maeve turned her head and looked at him.
"Don't make it weird," she said.
"I'm not making it weird."
"You're already making it weird."
He didn't have an answer for that one either. She huffed a short laugh through her nose and went back to looking at the ceiling, and neither of them said anything else for a while.
James woke the next morning in her bed.
