Blaire stands in front of me, her hands wrapped around her middle. She’s less rigid than she was when she first entered but still too tense to make me relax.
“I have a hard time letting people in because of that,” I say softly. “I generally don’t like being too incorporated into someone else’s life,either, because then I have a responsibility that I don’t have time to take seriously. I miss stuff. I miss signs. I can’t do things the right way, and the right way is the only way I want to do everything.”
She leans against the bookshelf and watches me out of the corner of her eye. I think she’s mulling what I just said over and trying to make sense of it.
I know I sound pretentious—as though I have some crazy pull on women—but that’s not at all what I mean. I hope she understands that.
“Can I ask you something?” she whispers.
“Sure.”
“Why did you ask me to stay?”
Her eyes shine with some unnamed emotion. Whatever it is staring back at me is raw and unfiltered. This moment, beneath the harsh yellow light and in a plain white T-shirt that hangs mid-thigh—Blaire Gibson is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her.
“Honestly? I don’t know,” I say. “You’re strong. You hold your own. You’re gorgeous and intelligent, and I enjoy talking to you. And it probably didn’t hurt that you live a thousand miles away.”
She almost smiles. “I figured that helped.”
“At least I’m honest.”
She blows out a breath and paces a little circle. Her fingers tug at the fabric of her shirt—clenching and unclenching it on repeat. Finally, she stops and looks at me with a resolution that makes me hold my breath.
“I have trust issues,” she says.
“I’m aware.”
She cracks a grin. “I’m serious. I really do. I don’t think I even understood the depths of it until I got here.”
“Why here?”
“I’m out of my wheelhouse,” she says, looking around. “I’m out of my routine. The people in my life know what to expect, and none of them pushes the agenda. But then I come here and meet you, and you don’t know the lines I’ve established. And then Sienna, bless her heart, somehow feels like I’m on her turf down here, and now we’re going to be best friends.”
“She’s a good friend to have.”
Blaire’s shoulders fall. “I don’t … I don’t knowhowto be a friend, Holt. I don’t know how to tell you things about me and know you won’t ridicule me for them.”
I push off my desk. “Do you think I’d do that? Because, if you do, I’ve done something wrong.”
“No,” she rushes, sticking a hand in front of her. “That’s not what I mean.”
“I would never ridicule you for anything you say or choose to share with me. Unless you think Boone is a genius. In that case, prepare yourself.”
This gets a little laugh out of her.
She’s gathering her courage as I watch her from a safe distance.
“When my parents died, I was a wreck,” she says, her tone monotone and as if she just needs to get the words out. “They were my lifeline. My safety net. Having them pass away like they did just pulled the rug out from under me.”
I nod.
“I had a boyfriend. Jack was his name. And a friend named Lacie. And, at first, they were supportive.”
My jaw clenches.I don’t think I like where this is going.
She ignores me. “I couldn’t pull myself together. It was … months before I could even function for a whole day. I had their estate to settle. I had to keep my youngest brother from landing himself in prison. Walker … I don’t even want to go there, and Lance had a health crisis that I had to get him through because if I didn’t, it would fall on our nana.”
She paces back and forth across my office. The words tumble past her lips in quick succession. It’s as though she’s afraid that if she stops, she’ll never restart.
