I was in love with him. I probably had been for longer than I wanted to admit.
But needing him felt like weakness. Like giving up the independence I'd sacrificed everything to build. Like becoming my mother.
So I kept my distance. Made coffee. Showed up on the balcony. Told myself friendship was enough.
I'd been lying to myself for four years.
The train reached my stop. I climbed the stairs into the gray morning light and walked the three blocks to my building, myfeet carrying me toward the only person who made the weight bearable.
I should have showered. I should have slept. Instead, I dropped my bag inside my door, scratched Watson behind the ears while he purred and wound between my legs, and stepped out onto the balcony.
Brian was already there.
He was on his side of the divider, two cups of coffee on the small table between us. Worn sweats, an FDNY T-shirt that had seen better days, hair still mussed from sleep. He looked rumpled and warm. So painfully good that something in me went soft.
"There it is."
I raised an eyebrow. "There what is?"
"That crease." He tapped the space between his own eyebrows, then slid a cup through the gap in the railing.
"Long night?"
"Is there another kind?"
I took the coffee and sank into my chair. It was perfect. Exactly how I liked it, because he'd been making my coffee for years. Of course, he knew.
Watson appeared in the doorway, then padded straight toward the divider to rub against the railing on Brian's side, purring like a motorboat.
"Morning, Watson." Brian reached through to scratch under his chin. "At least someone's happy to see me."
"He's happy to see everyone. He has no standards."
"Harsh. He's a good judge of character."
"He tried to befriend the exterminator last month."
"Like I said. Good judge of character."
We sat in comfortable silence for a while. The city woke up around us. Traffic sounds, a distant siren, someone shouting in Spanish three floors down. This was what I loved about Brian. He didn't need the quiet filled. He just needed me to be there.
Then he pulled out a worn notebook, and something in his expression shifted. Nervous. Almost shy.
"Hey, so." He cleared his throat. "I signed up for the paramedic certification program."
I looked up, surprised. "You did?"
"Cap's been on me about it. Figured it was time to stop coasting." He shrugged, but I could see the pride beneath the deflection. The hope. "I was wondering... would you help me study? Quiz me on the medical stuff? I know you're busy, but?—"
"Yes."
He blinked. "Yeah?"
"Of course." I set down my coffee and held out my hand. "Give me the notebook."
He handed it over, and I flipped to a dog-eared page. Drug interactions. I shifted into doctor mode without meaning to, my voice taking on the crisp authority I used with residents.
"Patient presenting with suspected MI. You've administered aspirin. What's your next move, and what contraindications are you watching for?"
