Maybe it was envy.
Or longing.
Whatever it was made me realize how rare it is to be loved without condition or caution.
And there’s something about Kia that tugs at me. I don’t know what she’s dealing with, and I’m not about to pry, but whatever it is must be heavy if she chose to walk away from her life at school.
The way she’s trying to mask it feels familiar.
Maybe a little too familiar.
I’ve been in that place, pretending you’re fine when you’re one second away from falling apart.
Unsure what to do, I clear my throat. “Morning, Kia. I’m leaving for work in about thirty minutes. I’m not sure what your plans are, but you’re welcome to come with me if you’d like.”
Her blonde head pops up from the pillow, hair sticking out in every direction, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, as if she crashed hard the night before.
She squints at me. “So it would be kind of like a bring-your-baby-daddy’s-sister-to-work day?”
“Nailed it,” I say with a laugh, already warming to her.
Her lips twitch before curving upward. “Sure. It beats sitting around and thinking about what a disaster I’ve made of things.”
Her eyes widen as if realizing what just popped out of her mouth.
The comment lingers for a beat before I push past the hesitation lodged in my throat. “I know we just met, and we’re not friends or anything, but…” I lift a shoulder in a half-shrug. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
Even I’m surprised by the offer. Maybe I threw it out there because I’m better at managing other people’s crises than my own.
With a tilt of her head, she studies me with eyes so much like Oliver’s it makes me blink.
Seeing that same blue gaze softened by vulnerability is… disorienting.
After a beat, her expression eases. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Okay then.” I point down the hall toward Oliver’s room. “I’m going to take a shower and get dressed. Then we can stop at this fab little bakery near the arena and pick up something to eat.”
A hint of a smile touches her lips. “That sounds good.”
“Perfect.”
For the first time since moving in, the morning doesn’t feel like I’m tiptoeing through someone else’s life.
I’ve barely taken a step in retreat when she says, “Rina?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
The tension in my shoulders eases. “No problem.”
Forty minutes later, we’re pushing through the door at Lakeshore Sweets. Morning light filters through the front windows, glinting off glass jars filled with biscotti and pastel macarons.
Normally it’s enough to make my mouth water, but today my stomach flips. I swallow hard against the sudden queasiness and force a smile.
Sloane looks up from behind the counter, her grin quick and familiar. “Hey, girl. Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
“Not a chance,” I say, moving closer to the display case. “Coffee and—” I stop short, the bitter aroma of the dark roast hitting me like a wave, and my stomach rolls. “Scratch that. Hot tea, please. Whatever Lilah usually drinks. And maybe a scone.”
