Free Hidden Things by Doyce Testerman

dropped back to the pillow with another loud sigh that ended with “Hey.”
    She caught a small smile on Tom’s face. “You always wake up so gracefully.” His voice was quiet and calm, pitched to wake a person up gently.
    â€œMmm.” She tried to inject a matching amusement into her voice, but it sounded false even to her—like a different kind of emotion entirely. Bitter. Silence built up until the two of them being on the bed together felt awkward.
    Tom unfolded the leg he’d tucked under himself and set both feet on the floor, turning away from Calliope. “They said you stopped by last night.”
    Calliope stared at his back until the words made sense. “Oh.” She finger-combed her hair out of her face and nodded. “Yeah. The club. Yeah.”
    â€œI’m sorry I didn’t have you come back.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “We had a bad first set and I couldn’t really talk—trying to get my head on straight.”
    â€œIt’s fine,” she said. The words came out precise and short, and Calliope could see Tom’s shoulders tighten—she sounded angry, and couldn’t seem to stop it.
    â€œOkay. I just wanted to apologize.” He stood up.
    Calliope’s chest tightened, and she said the first thing she could think of. “And . . . sneak into my house and watch me while I sleep.”
    Tom turned. “What?”
    Shit. “Kidding. It just . . .”—she pushed herself up to the head of the bed and drew her legs up—“surprised me. I don’t wake up very well, right?” Tom didn’t immediately reply. In the shadowed room, she couldn’t make out his eyes. “What—”
    â€œI made you some coffee.” He turned and walked out of the room.
    Shit. “Wait. Tom . . .” Calliope shoved the covers out of the way and rolled across the bed and to her feet. She was still wearing everything but her shoes from the previous night—no surprise, since she only vaguely remembered getting home.
    He was walking out of the kitchen and pulling on his jacket when she walked into the front of the house. “I didn’t mean to show up where I wasn’t invited,” he murmured, his eyes on anything but her. “You showed up at the club.”
    â€œI did,” she agreed.
    â€œI figured you wanted to talk,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken.
    â€œI did, ” she repeated. “I’m sorry, I just made a bad joke. I didn’t mean anything by it. Please.”
    He glanced up at her, shoved his hands in his pockets, and leaned against the wall. Not great, but not leaving. She took what she could get.
    â€œThank you,” she said, letting out a pent-up breath. “Do you want some of that coffee?”
    He hesitated in the way he did when he didn’t want to say what he was thinking; normally, Calliope found the habit irritating, but at the moment she was just as happy not knowing what was going through his head. “I’m good,” he replied. “Already had too much today.”
    And now you give him a little smile and ask if he’ll still be there in a minute if you go in the kitchen and get some for yourself. He’ll like it.
    But she didn’t. A perverse part of her refused. Somehow, that was letting him win. Somehow, that was a bad thing.
    The problem was it left her with nothing to say, even though she’d been the one to stop him, and the silence between them built up again.
    Tom saved her. “Toby said you promised him you’d come back and sing sometime.”
    Calliope let out a short, surprised bark of a laugh. “Oh really?” She shook her head at the ceiling. “I think he might have been overstating my part of the conversation.”
    â€œHe said you left pretty quick.” Tom’s eyes were still anywhere but on her. “With a friend?”
    â€œIt was