“You didn’t have to.”
Cal offers a lopsided smile, already walking away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Nash
The next morning, I wake to the smell of coffee and the sound of Lucy humming in the kitchen. For a second, I let it wash over me—eyes closed, mouth curved, body heavy with sleep.
Then I bolt upright.
If Lucy’s up, I’m late for work.
Why didn’t she wake me?
But it’s still dark out, that quiet, pre-dawn blue just beginning to tint the windows. I check the clock. I’m not late. Which begs the question—why the hell is Lucy awake? My suspicion kicks in before my brain finishes rebooting. I rake a hand through my hair, tug on a pair of sweats, and head for the kitchen, already bracing myself. The smell of coffee’s stronger now, rich and dark and laced withsomething else.
A trap, maybe.
I stop in the doorway, blinking once at the view.
Lucy’s back is to me, legs bare, crutches tucked under her shoulders as she hums along to some lo-fi beat on her phone. She’s wearing another pair of those barely-there pajama shorts that should be illegal.
My mind flashes back to yesterday without permission—warm skin, wet hair, the scent of coconut and something softer, somethinghers.
And for whatever reason, maybe because I’ve only been awake five minutes, maybe because Bennett listened to me last night, decided I was falling for her, and didn’t see the problem in that, or maybe it’s just because it’s been a long five years followed by a particularly weird month, but the memory of Lucy’s bare skin makes me mad.
“Don’t you get cold?” I grumble.
She jumps, spinning toward me with wide eyes and a hand to her chest. “Geeze, Nash! You trying to kill me?”
“Just asking a question.” I gesture vaguely at her legs. “You know we’re indoors, right? Climate-controlled and everything.”
“Don’t you know better than to sneak up on the walking wounded?” she says, still breathless. “Also, I find the better start to the day is something like ‘good morning’ or ‘how did you sleep?’ Judging my wardrobe is a bold choice.”
Lucy pours me a cup of coffee and hands it over like a peace offering.
I take it like a man preparing for war. “You’re not usually up this early.”
“I wanted to catch you before you left.”
I narrow one eye. “Ah. So itisa trap.”
Her brows lift. “A trap?”
“You. Out of bed before ten. Can’t mean anything good.”
“And here I thought you’d already shown me the definition of cynical. Pre-coffee Nash is another level entirely.” She waves her mug at me. “Drink. Let the caffeine do its thing. I’d like to talk to the man behind the bear before he leaves for work.”
I snort but take a sip, watching her move around the kitchen like it’s hers. Like she belongs here. Steam curls from her cup as she lifts it to her nose and closes her eyes. A few loose tendrils of hair have broken free from her ponytail, soft and golden around her face.
I drain my first cup and pour another. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Lucy beams. “There he is. A civilized human. I was starting to wonder if you made morning appearances.”
I collect her mug from her hands, setting it down with mine on the table before pulling out her chair. “Poke the bear at your own risk. I’m only one cup in.”
She laughs and settles into the chair, propping her crutches beside her. “You said three- or four-weeks non-weight bearing. We’re close to the end of that fourth week.”
