I didn’t look up right away. Just slid the chopped onions off the board into the hot pan and let them sizzle. "Hope you're hungry."
She crossed to the counter and leaned against it, watching me for a beat.
I cracked two eggs into a bowl. I planted both hands on the rim and stared at the yolks.
Then, before I could overthink it, I said it.
"The call was from my sister."
Claire stilled. "What?"
I lowered the flame. The onions went quiet in the pan. They had that perfect faint caramel edge.
"The night I came back from the road trip. The call on the balcony... it was her."
Claire straightened slightly, eyes sharpening. "Is she okay?"
I hesitated. Then nodded once. "She's been having symptoms. Muscle weakness, clumsiness, and brain fog. The doctors arerunning tests, but... one of the possibilities they're looking at is Huntington’s."
She opened her mouth. "That's an autosomal dominant condition, which means—"
Her face changed.
She stopped midsentence. Blinking. Remembering who she was talking to.
Her expression softened. "Oh, Liam. I'm sorry. That’s terrifying."
I nodded, swallowing against the sudden tightness in my throat. I stirred the eggs without really needing to.
"She’s seeing specialists, but it’s slow. The testing process, the referrals. And she’s scared. I’m—" I shook my head. "I don’t know what I’m doing."
Claire stepped closer. Not too close. Just enough.
"Let me help. I’ll talk to her doctor. Or look at her records if she’s comfortable sharing them. I’ll make sure they’re not missing anything."
The knot between my shoulders eased, just a little. I hadn’t even noticed how tight it was.
I watched the butter melt in the skillet. "I was hoping you’d say that."
Her eyebrows lifted, just a little. "Then why didn’t you just ask?"
I let the spatula rest on the pan’s edge and looked at her for the first time since I’d said the words.
"Because you've got enough going on."
Work, Nolan’s place and babysitting two sous-chefs under eight.
"You don’t need my problems, too." I angled the bowl, let the eggs slip into the butter, and reached for the spatula.
Claire stared at me for a long moment, then stepped in a little closer, brow furrowed.
"Liam... you opened up your house to me. You let me stay here so I could be closer to my family. What I’m offering seems insignificant by comparison."
I didn’t know what to say to that. I shifted, suddenly aware of the heat from the stove and the way my fingers curled against the edge of the counter.
She rubbed her arm, gaze dropping for a second. “Sorry. That came out kind of dramatic.”
I shook my head. “No. It didn’t.”
