“And how’s that little boundary experiment going?” my brother asks with a full helping ofyour answer is irrelevant because I already know.
“It was going just fine, thank you very much. But tonight, I walked in on her in the tub and it’s suddenly not going that great anymore.”
Bennett blinks. “Define ‘walked in.’”
“She slipped. I heard her fall. Thought she was hurt and instinct took over.”
“Shit, man.” Bennett leans back, hands behind his head like he can’t decide whether to play good cop or bad cop. “This is so much better than I imagined. This ispremiumcontent.”
“Shut up.”
Cal strolls by just then, setting Bennett’s favorite on our table—an overflowing basket of fries. They smell like garlic and good times. A staple of evenings at The Brass Lantern.
“You boys good?” he asks, voice like a gravel road.
“The more Nash talks, the better I get,” Bennett answers with a cocky grin.
Cal studies me, like he sees the whole damn story in the slouch of my shoulders. Then he gives a short nod and walks off again, muttering something under his breath about the Kincaid genes being just as much a blessing as a curse.
Bennett laughs into his beer like I’ve made his week.
“I’m serious, Ben.”
“I know. That’s why it’s funny.”
I glare like he’s ten again, but his grin says he’s immune.
After a minute, I shake my head. “It’s not just that. It’s her. It’s everything. She’s… I don’t know. She’s like sunlight after a week of storms. You forget how much you need it until it touches you. You told me a couple weeks ago that I was frozen, and I said you were full of shit. I was wrong.”
Bennett’s smile fades.
I look down at my drink. “And now she’s in my house. Laughing in my kitchen. Dancing during rehab. Making pancakes and saying thank you and calling me on my bullshit. We talk, Ben. We spent an entire afternoon at the pier, just listening to music and talking and…” I flare my hands and close my eyes. “Being with her feels right in a way it shouldn’t.”
My brother studies me, quiet for a beat. “Hold on,” he says, folding his arms on the table, “this sounds more serious than I thought. This sounds like something I shouldn’t be laughing about.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t do anything about it.”
“Because…?”
“Because a million reasons. Because she’s only here for a few weeks and she’s vulnerable, her life is so broken and me? I’m—” I exhale. “I’m tired, Bennett. I’m so tired I can’t always tell if what I’m feeling is real or just me desperate to feel anything again.”
Bennett watches me carefully. “There’s only one way to find out.”
I lean forward, elbows on the table. “You think I should pursue something with a woman ten years younger than me, living in my house, who I just walked in on naked after telling her getting involved was a bad idea because, and I quote, ‘I know better?’”
He grins. “When you say it like that? Hell yes.”
I groan.
“Listen,” he says, more gently this time, “you’re overthinking. As usual. But let me lay it out. Lucy’s not some lost puppy. You think she doesn’t know what she’s doing when she flirts? You’re not exactly Fort Knox. If I can see what she does to you, so can she.”
I say nothing.
“Are you taking advantage,” Bennett continues, “or are you in too deep, too soon? You moved her in, Nash. Didn’t you know you were attracted to her when you made the offer? You’re not a man who acts without purpose. I have to think part of you knew this would happen. Maybe, and I’m just spitballin’ here, maybe part of you actually hoped it would happen.”
I take a long sip. Let the whiskey burn my throat. Behind Bennett, at the far end of the bar, a guy in a flannel shirt leans toward a woman with hopeful eyes, two drinks in hand. She gives a tight smile, says something I can’t hear, and walks away without taking either one.
The guy watches her go, clutching those drinks as rejection drowns out hope.
