“It’s a thing,” Eve repeated, and pushed the box at Feeney. “For you.” His hands went directly into his pockets; his face fell into wary lines. “Why?” She often thought the same when it came to gifts, so only shrugged. “Just a . . . you know,” she mumbled, and shoved it at him. He looked puzzled, mildly embarrassed, but ripped the paper away. Wanting to keep it moving, she snagged the paper from him, balled it up, and tossed it on the closest table. Then got busy putting on her coat.
