"I'm fine."
She clicked her tongue that motherly "don't-lie-to-me" sound only women over forty have perfected.
"Come," she said, touching my shoulder lightly. "Sit. I'll make you something."
"I'm not hungry."
"You are hungry..,.,,,you just don't know it yet."
Before I could argue, she was already guiding me through the kitchen doors.
And honestly? The warmth in her tone made it impossible to protest.
I sat on the stool while she moved around the kitchen like she owned the place opening drawers, slicing fruit, throwing things into the blender.
"What're you making?"
"Something good for you."
She glanced back with a little smile. "You like strawberries, no?"
I blinked. "Yeah… I do."
"I know," she said softly. So softly I almost didn't hear her.
The blender roared to life, drowning out the sudden lump forming in my throat.
Someone had noticed that?
Someone had seen me?
