Page 81 of Where the Little Birds Are (Little Bird Duet 2)

THOMAS: No.

DAVIES: No.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kinley / 22

I’ve become accustomed to the grumbling coming from the other room as soon as the door closes, followed by a tired voice calling my name, a heavy sigh, and the sound of a bag hitting the floor.

He always brings me a hot chocolate after work on Fridays, setting it down beside me where I work at our island in the kitchen before pressing a kiss to my head. Today is Friday and there’s no hot chocolate or kiss. I save my word document and turn in the stool as he walks over to the fridge and pulls out a beer.

Parker rarely drinks.

“Are you okay?”

“The place is a mess,” he tells me, looking around at the dishes piled up, the shoes on the floor, and the candy wrappers littering the countertop.

I blush, closing my laptop. “Sorry, I was busy writing. Jamie—”

“I don’t care about Jamie right now.” His tone causes me to wince, so I press my lips together and nod. Sighing, he sets the beer bottle down and begins cleaning up after me. “You’re always writing. Have you even gone outside at all today?”

Lips twitching, I answer, “I haven’t been writing all day. I finalized the wedding invitations. I showed them to you the other night, remember? I ordered them this afternoon. They’ll be here by next Wednesday.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“You’re mad.”

“I’m just … tired.”

Tired. He’s been tired a lot lately. And based on the way he rolls up his shirt sleeves and gives me his back as he opens the dishwasher to load it with dirty dishes from the past two days, he’s more than that.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, walking over to him. Helping him stack the dishes, I grab one of the pods from the cupboard and pass it to him. He closes the front and presses start, going back to his beer on the other side of the kitchen.

“How’d the presentation go?”

“Like shit.”

I frown. He’s been working hard on it for two weeks now, so knowing that it didn’t go well only makes my guilt tenfold. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He’s short with me. “No.”

Slowly, I nod. “Want me to cook something? I think there’s pasta in the cupboard. I can make spaghetti. Or we can order delivery.”

He sips his beer and looks at me before rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I’m just going to head upstairs. I’m sure you have work to do. Order something for yourself if you want.”

Pulling out his wallet, he sets it down on the counter in front of me and gives me a chaste kiss on the forehead before walking away. And instead of following him like I should, I give him space. Grabbing my cell, I call for delivery, sit down in front of my computer, and immerse myself in a world that’s not this one.

I should have thought more about why that is but find myself brushing it off like always.

A few weeks later I walk home from Jamie’s office to see Parker’s bag already on the floor by the door. When I walk in further, I notice him sitting at the table, posture slumped, not moving an inch.

And I know. I just … know.

“You’re home early,” I note cautiously. It’s about two hours before he normally comes home and last I remember he didn’t tell me he’d taken time off. He never does.

Then again, neither do I.

I walk over to him and kiss his cheek, but he doesn’t respond. He just looks at me with hesitant eyes, his lips pursed, one hand wrapped around a bottle of his favorite beer.

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