Page 16 of Cold Mercy

“What do you think?”

But he isn’t looking at the album. He’s still looking at me.

“They’re perfect,” he says.

We finish with Mr. Young faster than I expected. When we step back out onto the street, I check my watch.

“The florist isn't until two,” I say, shielding my eyes from the sun. “We have an hour to kill.”

Thomas leans against the brick wall, checking me out over the rim of his sunglasses.

“I don't know about you, princess, but I'm starving. Let me guess, though. Hmm, you want somewhere with white tablecloths, tiny portions, and a menu I can't pronounce?”

I look at him, unimpressed. He really thinks he has me figured out. Just another spoiled brat playing with dead fiancé's money.

“Actually,” I say, pointing down the block to a neon sign that simply says ‘burgers.’ “I want a double cheeseburger with fries. It’s just around the corner.”

He follows my finger, then looks back at me, one eyebrow raised in genuine skepticism.

“There?” he asks dryly. “I eat there when I'm in the area. The grease is lethal. Didn't think it met the royal standards.”

“My standards are fine, Reed.” I say, giving him a sweet smile that translates perfectly to ‘go fuck yourself.’ “However, my patience for your assumptions is running low. Let's go.”

We walk the short distance in silence. He walks on the street side of the sidewalk without making a show of it, a habit that irritates me because it’s polite. We slide into a vinyl booth that has seen better decades, and I place my order without looking at the menu, knowing exactly what I want. Thomas does the same, rattling off his order like he’s memorized it. I watch him, surprised. We used to come here all the time, all four of us: me, Noah, Elizabeth and James. This booth saw us all through school, saw us opening our companies, witnessing our dreams being built, bite by bite. And it strikes me as odd that I never ran into him here.

Thomas pauses mid-chew, staring at my hands.

“What,” he says slowly, “are you doing?”

I chew, swallow, and look at him like he’s the crazy one.

“Eating. Try it sometime.”

“You’re eating it upside down, princess,” he points out, gesturing with a fry. “That’s...wrong. Fundamentally wrong.”

“It’s physics, Reed,” I counter. “The top bun is thicker. It absorbs the juices better, so the bread doesn't disintegrate. Plus, the toppings stay in place.”

I gesture to his plate, where a tomato slice is currently sliding out of his bun.

“See? Chaos. If you flipped it, you wouldn't have to unhinge your jaw like a barn animal just to take a bite.”

He stares at me, then at his burger, then laughs. A low, genuine sound that vibrates between us.

“You are ridiculous,” he says, shaking his head. “Physics. Right.”

“It’s logic,” I correct.

We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. It feels...normal. Dangerously normal. For a second, I forget about the empty house waiting for me. I forget about Noah. The thought stings, sharp and sudden. The burger suddenly tastes like ash in my mouth. I put it down after only two bites, my appetite vanishing as quickly as it came.

Feed the body, starve the soul. You’ll never again be truly whole. One bite for you, none for the dead. The guilt is heavy, like jumping lead.

Thomas notices. Of course he does. He wipes his hands on a napkin, his eyes scanning my face, then the full plate.

“You barely ate two bites,” he says.

“I lost my appetite.”

“You need to eat, Sophia.”