Breakfast was a very polite disaster.
The cheerful man from the hotel set up a silver tray on the terrace table, bowed twice, and left. Damien and Silveria sat across from each other and ate their croissants like two people who had never met.
"Good coffee," Damien said.
"Very good."
"The storm cleared the air."
"It did."
A long, terrible pause. Silveria stared at her cup. Damien stared at the sea. Seagulls screamed overhead, and one landed on the railing and looked at them with open disgust.
"About this morning," Damien began.
"It's fine."
"I didn't..."
"It's really fine," Silveria said quickly. "The wall fell down. It happens. People move in their sleep."
"Right." He nodded. He sounded both relieved and disappointed, and that made her feel worse. "That's what I was going to say."
"Good. Then we agree."
"We agree."
They both reached for the jam at the same time. Their fingers brushed. Both of them pulled back like they'd touched a stove.
