She snorted. “Allour personal shit?”
He turned to her then, eyes going wide, the whites bright in the dark. “Well, I mean…” His expression slid into a smirk, the one that doubtless worked on lots of women – it worked on her, at least. “Notall.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”
“You eat yet?”
“No.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders, heavy, strong, and comforting. He was healthy, now, alive, and vital, and whatever else was going on, she could revel in that fact. “How ‘bout Chinese?”
“Sounds good.” She let him steer her down the steps and toward her unmarked, not as scared as she might have been. The scariest thing of all had an arm around her, right where she wanted it.