“We’ll see how things look during PT tonight. No promises, but maybe we start weaning off thecrutches.”
Her face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. She hides it behind her mug, but not well enough.
“Tell me that’s not why you got up before dawn.”
“I mean, that’s part of it,” she says, setting her coffee down, “but mostly, I wanted to talk about yesterday.”
And there it is. The moment I can’t stop replaying that only highlights a situation I don’t know how to handle.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Thereis, though.” Lucy lifts her chin, her voice steady and confident. “There’s something between us. And I get it—you’re old enough to know better, blah blah blah—but what was I supposed to do? Sit here all day stressing about how awkward it will be when you got home? That sounds miserable.”
“So, your solution was to ambush me over coffee?”
“Exactly. Rip off the Band-Aid.” She shrugs. “We’re attracted to each other, Nash. That’s fine, right? It happens. We can admit it and stop tiptoeing around it. Maybe it goes away. Maybe it doesn’t. Either way, I’m not going to pretend it’s not there.”
And if it’s more than just attraction? If it’s tumbling into connection? What then? Do we admit that, too?
My jaw ticks. “And if it doesn’t go away?”
She hesitates, clearly as unsure how to answer as I am. “Then we figure it out.”
Figure it out. That’s about as useless as Bennett’s advice yesterday. There’s no plan. No clarity. No certainty. Just figure it out, see where it leads, do itanyway.
Who lives like that?
“Or...” Lucy smirks as she draws out the word. “I take Gabby’s advice.”
Despite how adorable she looks, my stomach sinks. “Dare I ask?”
“You saw me naked,” she says, matter of fact. “So I get to see you naked.”
I cough on a laugh. “Not gonna happen.”
“It would only be fair.”
“Still not gonna happen.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.” Lucy sits back in her chair with studied nonchalance. “This isn’t eighteenth-century England.”
“Right. Because you were so chill about it yesterday.”
“Iwas.As a dancer, nudity really isn’t a big thing.”
“Sure. That’s what I saw all over your face—calm, detached professionalism.”
She grins. “You’re not a dancer, Nash. You’re… you.”
“So, if Iwerea dancer, you’d have been totally cool?”
“We’re getting off track.”
“I just want to understand the mystery. When is nakedness fine, and when is it grounds for a full-blown freakout?”
“Why?” she asks, cocking a brow. “You planning to see me naked again?”
And just like that, my senses come alive.
