“Uh-oh, nothing good ever comes after ‘hear me out,’” I teased.
“Fine, maybe not. But this isn’t crazy, I promise.”
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. “I’m all ears, Livvi.”
She took a deep breath, clearly summoning her courage. “Do you remember lunch at the Orange Blossoms Café? When I told you Dory gives great advice?”
I blinked. “You mean … ‘Just keep swimming’? Yeah, I remember.”
“Right.” A soft smile tugged at her lips. “And then … you sent me that picture of your tank the other night. Empty. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how sad it looked. How … well, how you looked at the café too.”
I frowned slightly, caught off guard. “How I looked?”
She met my gaze, eyes earnest. “Yeah. Like maybe you needed a little reminder. So I got you this.” She held up the box, and the blue tang darted a little in the water, scales catching the light. “Your very own Dory. To tell you to just keep swimming. No matter what that means—training, Olympics, anything you’re working toward.”
I stared at her for a beat, then back at the fish, and then back at her. Part of me wanted to laugh. The other part? Completely floored.
Because who does this? Who notices the offhand detail of an empty fish tank in a picture I sent? Whotakes the time to connect that to something she once said, then turns around and shows up at my door carrying a fish?
And maybe that was the thing that hit hardest—she noticed. She remembered. She cared enough to act on it. Not because she had to, not because there was anything in it for her, but because she thought I needed it. And heaven help me, she was right. The emptiness she saw in that tank? That was me, more than I could bring myself to confess. Empty. Tired. Running on fumes, trying to convince myself I could keep grinding without breaking. And here she was, holding proof that she saw past the façade.
“You realize,” I said, voice rougher than I expected, “that this might be the weirdest … most thoughtful … thing anyone’s ever done for me?”
“Why not both?” she countered, though there was a small hopeful lift in her eyes.
And that was the problem. Letting it mean something. Lettinghermean something. Because if I let myself sink into the warmth behind this gesture, if I admitted how much it struck me right where I’d been hollow for too long, then there was no going back. It wasn’t just a fish—it was proof she saw me, maybe more clearly than I wanted to be seen.
And that was a risk I wasn’t sure I could afford. Because I had goals. Dreams that demanded everything I had. No slipups, no distractions. I couldn’t let myself get pulled off course—not by her laugh, not by the way she noticed things no one else did, not even by thewarmth inside me that said maybe she was exactly what I’d been missing. Relationships were the kind of thing that slowed you down, made you vulnerable. And I didn’t have room for vulnerable. Not now.
I pushed off the counter, shaking off my thoughts as I walked over to take the box from her hands, careful not to brush against her accidentally—or on purpose. “All right, little Dory,” I said, setting the box down on the counter. “Let’s get you settled in your new home before I start thinking this is some elaborate test.”
She laughed, that warm, teasing sound that always made me feel unraveled, every piece of me too aware of her. “It’s not a test. Unless you consider learning to love your own little fish a challenge.”
I glanced at her, grin tugging at my lips. “Challenge accepted.”
I crouched down, adjusting the box’s placement on the counter. “So … what exactly does a blue tang need? I’m assuming not just a tank filled with water and my winning personality.”
She set her hands on her hips, giving me that look—the one that said she was trying hard not to roll her eyes. “Actually, Mr. Winning Personality, they need saltwater. Good filtration. Hiding spots. A stable environment.”
I arched a brow. “Sounds like you did your homework.”
“Of course I did.” Her voice softened as she leaned closer, watching the fish dart around. “She deserves a chance to thrive.”
Something about the way she said it made my throattighten. Not just about the fish, I realized. About me too.
“Guess I’ll need your help making sure I don’t screw this up.” I reached for the packet of marine-salt mix and the notes she’d brought along. “You know … to give Dory the five-star treatment.”
She grinned, stepping in beside me. “Don’t worry. I’ll supervise.”
We fell into an easy rhythm setting up my tank—me pouring, her measuring, both of us leaning shoulder to shoulder over the tank as the water began to clear. Every so often our hands brushed when we reached for the same thing, little jolts of awareness sparking each time.
By the time we’d adjusted the filter, tucked in the heater, and stacked the small rock formation she’d brought for decoration, the tank was beginning to look like a real home. Empty for now—she’d insisted it needed time to settle before “Dory” could move in—but full of promise.
“There,” she said softly, almost proud.
I should’ve thanked her again, walked her to the door, let her leave before I got in deeper. Instead, the words that came out were, “You want something to drink?”
She glanced up, surprised. “A drink?”
