"I don't disappear."
"You literally told me last week you couldn't grab beers because you had to fix someone's cabinets." Brian raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you fix cabinets?"
"It's not like that."
"Then what's it like?"
I set down the coupling. Rubbed a hand over my face. "We're friends."
Brian stared at me. "Friends."
"That's what she wanted. That's what I offered."
"Why the hell would you do that?"
"Because that's what she needed." The words came out sharper than I meant them to. "She’s been through a lot, Brian. Bad relationship. Raising her kid alone. She's not looking for some guy to sweep in and complicate her life."
"So you're just going to what? Hang out and fix her cabinets forever? Bring her coffee and pretend you don't want more?"
I didn't have an answer for that.
Brian shook his head. "You've got it bad."
I picked up the coupling again—then paused. "You're one to talk. When are you gonna ask that ER doctor out?"
Brian stiffened. "Ava? It's not like that."
"You've been saying that for two years."
"Because it's true." He picked at a thread on his pants. "She's my neighbor. We're friends. That's it."
I raised an eyebrow. "Friends who have coffee every morning. Friends who talk on their balconies until 2 AM."
"How do you know about that?"
"You told me. Last Christmas. After your fourth beer."
Brian muttered something under his breath.
"Just saying." I set down the coupling. "You're giving me shit about Maya. Maybe take your own advice."
"It's different."
"How?"
Brian didn't answer. Just stood, brushing off his pants. "I should finish the rig check."
"You're avoiding the question."
"Yep." He started walking away, then paused. Looked back. "For what it's worth? The fact that you're doing it her way, not pushing, actually showing up without expecting something in return? That's not nothing. That's the opposite of nothing."
"So is two years of balcony conversations."
Brian snorted. "Goodnight, Dr. Phil."
"It's ten in the morning."
"Go inspect your couplings, asshole."
