She smiles. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”
I grab the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over her shoulders. “Just in case.”
She pulls it closer. “You’re kind of good at this.”
“At what?”
“Being here.”
I shrug, playing it off even though my chest tightens. “I’ve got a mom and three little sisters. You grow up learning when to give space and when to stay put.”
Her gaze lingers on me, slow and thoughtful, like she’s seeing something new she hadn’t bothered to look for before. Like there’s more she wants to say but isn’t ready to open yet. So she doesn’t. She just nods. “Well… I’m glad you’re here.”
Then she looks back down at her tablet, and I head for the kitchen, heart doing dangerous things over a woman in messy curls and glasses in her own living room.
I’m cracking eggs when I feel her watching me. Not in a creepy way. More like quiet curiosity, like she’s making sure I’m real and not something her brain made up after the worst night of her life.
I glance over my shoulder. “What?”
She shrugs. “You look very serious about breakfast.”
“Eggs deserve respect,” I say solemnly. “It’s a responsibility.”
That gets a tiny smile, and I take it as a win.
I slide the eggs into the pan, grab bread for the toaster, keep it simple. Just food, warmth, normal.
She pads into the kitchen and sits on one of the stools, tablet forgotten, mug still clutched in both hands.
“You don’t have to supervise,” I tell her. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am resting. This is me resting while supervising.”
I snort. “Yeah, okay.”
I plate the food and set it in front of her, then sit across from her with my own plate.
She stares at it like she’s surprised it exists.
“Eat,” I say gently. “Your body’s been through hell. It needs fuel.”
She takes a few careful bites, testing, then relaxes when it stays down.
We eat quietly for a minute.
Then she clears her throat. “You asked earlier why I didn’t wake you. And why I called you last night.”
My chest tightens. “Yeah.”
She twists her mug slowly. “I could’ve called Bella. Or Switch. Or Blade. I knew any of you would’ve come.”
“Yeah,” I say. “We would’ve.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “But I didn’t want any of them.”
That lands heavy.
“I wanted you.”
