“Yes, I do,” she said. “But not always the kind that people usually mean.”

A faint, bitter smile appeared and vanished on his face. “You speak like someone much older than you are.”

“And you sleep like someone afraid of his own dreams,” she countered.

The air went completely still as Maya realized she’d crossed a line. Arthur stood, the blanket falling to the floor, and for one heartbeat the old hardness returned to his face.

Then, quietly, he told her to leave the tray and go. She did as she was told.

At the door, he spoke again. “Tomorrow morning, come here early.”