Jenny: Reflexive

Caleb cursed himself for starting. His arm jolted, jerking his knife-point into the battered table. It was better, he reflected as he pulled it back out, than putting in her. What did she mean, coming up on him so? And her question irked him. Did she mean the Guttersnipe? Or did she mean herself? And why would she be underfoot, and why would he resent the Guttersnipe? Confused, reserved, it took him a moment to find his countenance.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "The day went as well as could be expected. If tomorrow stays cool and overcast, the rain may have put us at an advantage."

He looked at her face sidewise, watching for her reaction.