He was being so open with his compliments, and Marcie didn't entirely know what to do with them. She glanced at his eyes, and looked away, flushing a little pink.
She wanted to ask if he remembered what happened to him, if he saw the knife go in, how it felt like to die like that. She wanted to see if the wound had left a scar or not. She was about to ask, when the door buzzed from the food delivery.
"I'll get it," she said, turning the bedside lamp on as she passed. She grabbed his robe on the way, because she didn't want the driver to get the wrong idea, this late at night.