I peer down and see the last wing. “You should have it,” I try to argue. “No chance.” Rhett licks his lips as he stares at the screen, and I can’t look away. “You need your energy to put up with me. Have it.” I swear that one little drumstick is staring back at me. Daring me to make this mean more than it does. But giving me the last piece is just so . . . sweet. I almost can’t reconcile it. I almost want to ask myself what it means.
