I don't speak. I just sit there on the edge of the bed and listen.
"I stopped going to the gym because my last boyfriend turned it into a scorecard," she says. "He made everything about numbers and mistakes and how I could be if I just tried harder. And tonight, you…"
She trails off. I prompt gently, "I what?"
She looks up at me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "You touched me like there was nothing to fix or I wasn't too much. Like you liked that there was a lot of me to hold on to."
I feel my throat go tight. "Lena," I say, my voice lower than before. "Look at me."
She already is, but she lifts her chin anyway. "You are not a before picture," I tell her. "You are the whole story. You understand me?"
Her eyes overflow. A tear spills down her cheek, and I catch it with my thumb, then leave my hand cupping her face. "You've got curves that make a man want to thank whoever's in charge," I say. "If anyone made you feel like you had to shrink to be worth loving, they were wrong. Not confused. Wrong."
She lets out a soft, hitched sound and leans into my palm. "Own it," I say. "Own every inch of what you've got. It's not a flaw. It's a damn privilege to touch."
That finally breaks something loose. The tears come steady now, silent at first, then shaking.
I set the tray fully aside and pull her in.
She folds into my chest, fists bunching in my shirt, crying in that quiet way people do when they're too used to holding it in.
I wrap my arms around her and just hold her.
No speeches. No distractions.
Just warmth and weight and a heartbeat under her ear. "It's okay," I murmur when her breathing stutters. "Let it out. You're safe here."
She cries herself down to soft little hiccups, then exhaustion creeps in. Her body gets heavier against mine, her eyelids drooping with each blink. "You should sleep," I say.
"I'll get crumbs on your sheets," she mumbles, words already blurred.
"I'll survive."
She gives a tiny laugh and curls closer. Within minutes, her breathing evens out. Out cold. Trusting. Completely unguarded.
That's when the guilt really kicks in.
I ease her onto her side and lie down behind her, one arm draped carefully over her waist.
She fits there too well.
Her hair smells like whatever she used in the shower.
Her body is warm and soft against mine, and every cell in me wants to stay right here.
You idiot, I think.She's Daniel's daughter. She's too young for the kind of life you live. You know better than this.
But my hand stays where it is, fingers resting against the curve of her stomach.
I stare at the ceiling and let the war inside my head run loudly until sleep finally drags me under.
The morning comes too early.
My body wakes up before my mind does, and for two stolen seconds, everything feels right.
A warm bed. A beautiful woman within reach.
Then the memories line up, and my stomach twists.
