“We all have something, don’t we?” I turn back to my phone, staring at the message. “I’m supposed to meet my parents for coffee after I leave here. It was bad enough when I was gonna surprise them with the crutches?—”
“They don’t know you’re injured?” Nash’s surprise sets off a shame bomb in my belly.
“I should have told them,” I say with a sad shake of my head. “I just… wasn’t ready for the lecture.” It sounds even more cowardly out loud.
He sets his jaw and I’d do anything for a thought bubble to appear above his head. Is he judging me? Does he understand? Has he ever had to live knowing that nothing he does will ever be enough, even when he's operating at max capacity?
“It’s gonna be so bad when I ask for a place to put my stuff.” I drop my head into my hands. “And even worse than that when I say I need a place to putme.”
“I might have a solution for that.” Nash shifts beside me, voice steady.
I blink. “What?”
“It’s gonna sound like a big deal, but it’s not.”
“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.”
“I’ve got a spare room. Consider it yours. Store yourstuff. Yourself, even. Whatever you need. I’ve got you.” He says it so casually, I’m not sure I heard him right.
I stare for a few awkward seconds then, “Did you just ask me to move in with you?”
“I guess I did.” Nash blinks, almost as surprised as I am. For a moment, I think he’s going to rescind the offer, but then he shrugs and tosses up his hands. “I mean, I’ve already caught so much shit from my family for helping you as much as I have, might as well give them something real to tease me about. My schedule can get hectic. If you lived here, it would make finding time for us to meet so much easier. Consider it another grumpy little kindness bomb.”
And just like that, I’m laughing again. “Can you imagine what my dad would say?”
“It’s not about him, Lucy. This is about you needing the kind of help I have to offer. What he thinks about it doesn’t matter.”
And it’s that simple. No grand speech. No guilt-laced strings. Just a quiet man offering shelter to a woman who’s spent too long pretending she doesn’t need it.
I want to say no. To prove I can figure it out myself. But I’m so tired of performing strength I don’t feel. And maybe it’s okay to want someone in your corner.
Even if he’s older. Grumpier. And makes fun of your music.
I look at him, really look at him. And whatever I was about to say dissolves.
“Thank you,” I say instead, the words raw andunfiltered. “The offer means a lot to me, but I don’t want to take advantage. Let me think about it?”
Nash nods, slow and sure, then stands, offering a hand. It’s warm. Strong. My fingers wrap around his, and I don’t let go.
And for the first time since this whole mess started, I feel steady.
Behind us, the playlist shifts—soft piano, a voice like velvet. Something soulful and slow. The kind of song you don’t talk through.
My hand is still in his when our eyes meet.
There’s something in the way he’s looking at me. Something that feels safe and strong and secure. Something I’ve always wanted and never had.
His gaze moves to my lips and my tongue darts out to moisten them. I lean closer, just a fraction, both an invitation and an acceptance…
But then he clears his throat and drops my hand. Looking at anything but me.
Oh my goodness gracious!
Are you kidding me?
Did I really almost kiss him again?
This man offers me yet another solution to yet another problem and some part of me thinksthat’sthe way to repay him?
