Seth’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. He set it down, reached for his coffee instead. The pause stretched a beat too long.
“That’s—” He cleared his throat. “That’s really nice of you to offer.”
“But?”
“I should probably go home.” The words came out flat, rehearsed. “See my family. It’s been a while.”
I watched him not meet my eyes. Watched him grip his coffee mug like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to the table.
“You don’t sound excited about that.”
“I’m not.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “But it’s one of those things, you know? Family obligations. Can’t avoid them forever.”
Going home for the holidays was a minefield for me, but I couldn’t imagine being filled with dread at the thought. I debated trying to convince him he didn’thaveto be miserable, but the tense set of his jaw said the subject wasn’t up for discussion. I didn’t push because I didn’t want to ruin this. Not today.
“The offer stands,” I said. “If you change your mind.”
His shoulders dropped. He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Thank you. Really.”
That night,I spread my capstone materials across the coffee table and tried to focus.
The presentation was in three days. I had the data memorized, the slides polished, the talking points rehearsed until I could recite them in my sleep. But my brain kept drifting—to the Riddell meeting, to the grad program, to the bowl game schedule Seth had pulled up on his phone.
December twenty-sixth. He’d be playing football on December twenty-sixth.
I shoved the thought aside and opened my laptop.
Seth was in the kitchen, doing something complicated with chicken and vegetables. He’d taken over cooking duties somewhere in the last few weeks, claiming I couldn’t be trusted to feed myself when I was in research mode. He wasn’t wrong. Left to my own devices, I’d survive on coffee and whatever protein bars were on sale at the campus store.
“You’re overthinking,” he called without turning around.
“I’m preparing.”
“Same thing. Your presentation is flawless. You’ve run through it fifteen times.”
“Sixteen.”
“My point exactly.” He appeared in the doorway, dish towel slung over his shoulder. “Take a break. Eat. Watch something mindless. The work will still be there in an hour.”
I wanted to argue, but he was already crossing to the couch, settling beside me, easing my laptop closed.
“An hour,” he said. “Then you can obsess all you want.”
“I don’t obsess.”
“You absolutely obsess. It’s one of your most charming qualities.”
I let him find something on TV—some cooking competition where everyone was stressed and nothing was on fire yet. His arm draped across my shoulders, pulling me into his side. The weight of him was grounding, familiar in a way that still surprised me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“This morning. Breakfast. Making me take breaks.” I turned my head and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “All of it.”
“That’s what this is supposed to be, right?” He was quoting me from weeks ago, from that first real conversation in the diner. “Taking care of each other.”
“Yeah. That’s what this is.”
