“I believe you,” he says. “Simon and Violet are my aunt and uncle. I probably spent half my childhood in their bakery. For the longest time, I believed I met Santa there when I was six.” His mouth quirks at the memory. “My cousins basically grew up behind that counter.”
“Oh my gosh, that’s right.” I shake my head, genuinely baffled I didn’t connect the dots sooner. “I can’t believe I didn’t put that together. I spent so much time at Holiday’s with Bennett, and then Stella and Gabby when we were kids. Simon and Violet are the best.”
“They really are.” Something shifts in his voice—quieter, almost reverent. “Simon stepped up after my dad died. I was sixteen. Old enough to think I didn’t need anyone, young enough to be completely wrong about that. He got through to me in a way no one else could.”
“I can totally see that.” Warmth rises behind my ribs, surprising and tender. The image of Simon Holiday guiding a grief-stricken teenager makes my throat tighten. “He and Violet helped me through some tough stuff with my parents. They have this way of making you feel like you belong. Like you matter. I don’t think a stranger has ever walked through the doors of their bakery.”
Nash’s brows pull together, not with confusion—more like he’s noticing something he can’t quite name. “It’s kinda weird, isn’t it? You being so close with so many members of my family.”
“It is.” I pull my lips into a frown. “Especially since we never actually met until now.”
But the oddest part is howrightit feels.
Like maybe I’ve known Nash Kincaid longer than just a handful of days.
Like some small, quiet part of me has been waiting to meet him.
We were both shaped by the same people, in different ways. Maybe that explains the strange tug low in my stomach whenever he looks at me.
“Well, thank you for the croissant,” Nash says. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“You didn’t have to do this.” I gesture uselessly. “I appreciate what you’re doing for me. So much.”
One dark brow lifts and I suddenly feel like a little girl about to get a lecture from her dad. “So, the use of my time, my home, my gym equipment is worth one croissant. Good to know.”
I practically choke, immediately regretting… well… everything. “No. No. It’s worth way more. Obviously. I just wanted to do something nice…”
Nash holds up his hands. “Easy there. I’m joking. Remind me never to do it again.”
I huff a nervous laugh, biting the inside of my cheek as he gestures me toward the hallway. “Come on. Let’s get to work.”
The gym is more functional than flashy. Padded floors, weight racks, a treadmill, resistance bands, and two yoga mats stacked neatly in the corner—one of them looking suspiciously new. Light filters through a row of narrow windows near the ceiling, casting soft shadows across the space.
“We’re going super easy today, starting with some light resistance work. Very light,” Nash emphasizes, grabbing a foam mat and unrolling it for me. “Then we’ll do some weight bearing exercises in the pool, so you can start testing range of motion. After that, I’ll check for any increase in swelling, and we’ll finish with a massage.” He claps his hands together like this is no big deal and I blink in surprise.
“Massage?”
He arches a brow. “Therapeutic massage. Part of physical rehab protocols. It’s not spa day, it’s targeted therapy.”
“Yeah. Totally. Targeted therapy.” I lower myself awkwardly onto the mat, trying to keep my tone neutral, even though the thought of Nash Kincaid giving me a massage has my heart doing that funny little tripping thing again.
Like, what the heck even is that?
“I’d like to try and push a little today,” I say, refocusing on why I’m actually here. “Not to the point of hurting myself, just, you know, I’m chomping at the bit to get my life back. The sooner this ankle is back in action, the sooner I can figure out my next move.”
Nash eyes me with a mixture of frustration and, is that...? No. It couldn’t be.
Is that respect?
“I’ve never had a patient as stubborn as you before,” he says with a solemn shake of his head.
I arch a brow and hit Nash with my best smile. “You mean you’ve never had a patient as stubborn asyoubefore.”
“That’s what I said.” A flicker of amusement sparks in his eyes as he catches what I meant. “Fair point. Clever girl.”
Oh wow.
A compliment…?
