Her eyes widen a fraction. “Oh no.”
“And made breakfast.”
“Ohno.”
“And didn’t expect anything in return,” I finish quietly.
Lorna leans back, lips pursed. “He’s boyfriending you.”
My stomach flips.
I hate how much I like that word.
She watches my face shift through about six emotions I’m not controlling very well. “This is where I remind you that emotional attachment is bad for business.”
“I know.”
“And that lines get messy.”
“I know.”
“And that men don’t always wanna stay when they realize how intense this job is.”
That one lands.
Hard.
My chest tightens, memories stirring whether I want them to or not—my dad’s voice, sharp and absolute.People leave,he’dsaid once, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white.You don’t give them the chance.
I’d learned early how to be self-contained. How to be enough for myself. How not to need.
Everest is a problem because he doesn’t feel like a risk.
“I can handle it,” I tell her.
Lorna studies me for a long moment. “Just don’t forget who you are.”
I nod.
I don’t tell her I’m scared I already know.
Everest shows up the next morning like he belongs here.
Not knocking timidly. Not hovering in the doorway. He lets himself in with the spare key I gave him without thinking and moves through my space like he’s memorized it already.
I wake to the sound of cabinets opening and closing. Soft music playing from my phone and the clink of dishes.
For one terrifying second, I think I’m still dreaming.
Then he appears in the doorway with a mug in his hand and that crooked, careful smile that makes my knees weak.
“Morning,” he says. “I hope you like eggs.”
I push myself up on my elbows, hair wild. “You’re… domestic.”
“I Googled.”
I laugh, dragging the blanket around my shoulders as I follow him into the kitchen. He’s already cleaned. Like,cleaned, cleaned. Counters wiped, the sink’s empty.
