Anouk found Orson in her room holding a spare blanket and looking guilty. It was late January, she had been out buying bread, and the sight of him beside her bed made her want to kiss him before she understood why he looked as if he’d been caught stealing.
“What have you done?”
“Brought this.”
“I can see that.”
“You said the room was cold.”
“Yes.”
“So I thought—”
He stopped. She set the bread on the desk.
“Orson.”
“I asked before coming up. Your landlady let me in because you said I’d be here at six.”
“I did. That’s not the problem.”
“What is?”
She looked at the blanket. It was a nice blanket. Soft, dark red, folded with the edges aligned. She was cold at night. His kindness was entirely practical. Yet she felt a small prick of irritation, made worse by knowing how ungrateful it would sound.…
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