Leah never worried about keeping her cool. It was a good means of venting the excess rage that slaying zombies didn't alleviate. Certainly didn't do any favors for her popularity, though. A humorless laugh escaped her. "Lucky me, sure."
She'd walked right into that one. "Do I look like a glutton to you?" There was a challenge in her tone, as if daring him to answer truthfully. Sure, the remark hadn't been specifically about her, but it was implied. "Never mind. I know why you're such an asshole now. It's because French people are the rudest people in the world. It all makes sense."
What didn't make sense was the way Marchand was acting. Now he was offering her a lighter? Maybe she was having a nightmare, instead. Whatever it was, she wasn't sure why she wasn't trying to take advantage more than she already was.
Picking up the lighter, Leah put the cigarette between her teeth and lit it. That first inhale was the sweetest. The ghost of a smile appeared on her face, gone almost a quickly as soon as she remembered who her company was. Turning her head, she tossed the lighter on top of Evan's bag. True, she could've kept it. But she had a lighter. And hers was nicer.
Leah was taking her cue to leave, because she really didn't want to be around if — no, when, definitely when — he broke down. That was an experience neither of them needed to share. Evan called out to her, but it was the weight of his hand on her shoulder that brought her to a stop. Turning, she shrugged his hand off, her gaze darting to his face and away again. His eyes were damp; that was the only thing she chose to notice.
When he thanked her, Leah didn't know what to say. She nodded, then indicated the bottle and the cigarette perched between her lips when he asked what she wanted in return. "Got my party favors. I'm all set for now." It was her vague way of saying that he didn't owe her anything for it. Curse her sentimentality.