The domesticity of the moment felt strange; coming home after a hard day to hang up his hat and eat the dinner she'd made for him. It was a lot of things at once; ironically funny considering she was hardly a happy housewife and a bad day at work for her dinner companion most likely meant bloodshed of the literal variety, a little chilling considering all that she knew James Hawkins to be capable of paired with the urgent task of settling herself ever closer to him, even uncomfortably familiar considering she'd lived a version of this twice in two different homes with two different men, one of them altogether too similar and close to Rodeo to avoid comparison. Willa held back the urge to sass, to offer a flippant commentary of her thoughts, unsure if he'd find them quite so amusing. The quarters were too close and his mood seemed too dark for the flicker of flirtation, the both of them occupying nearly all the standing square footage the trailer offered and still sharing personal space. Palatial, her new home was not, though late at night the warm glow of the golden wood in the lantern light made the place feel cozy, snug.
"You didn't," she insisted, lifting the bowl and plate from the dish rack beside the sink as evidence and to use again for his dinner. "Sit, tell me about it if you mean to, and I'll finish up." Willa's head nodded toward the two-seat booth that made up the dining and living rooms both.