The door closed behind them.
The room settled back into its quiet.
Maya looked at the door for a moment, then at Stan, then at the script in her hand.
"Your friends are interesting," she said.
"They are."
"Zack Howard in particular." She tilted her head. "He looks at you the way someone looks at a person they're genuinely proud of."
Stan considered this.
"He's that kind of friend."
Maya was quiet for a moment, the thoughtful, slightly wistful quiet of someone recognizing something they value when they see it.
"You're lucky," she said softly.
"I know."
She leaned back against the headboard with her script, pulling her knees up, and for a while neither of them spoke. The island moved quietly outside the window, the distant sound of the sea, the last of the evening light pooling gold against the curtain edge, the whole vast, beautiful location settling into its nighttime version of itself.
