"That’s not an answer."
Natalia’s gaze shifts to the floor for a moment. When she looks back up, she’s quieter.
"I stayed because you asked," she says. "Because you needed someone and you hate needing people."
The honesty in that, lands. She knows me better than most people I have known my whole life.
I shift my weight, feeling the heaviness of wanting her and everything that’s happened between us. How I left the way I did.
"Kat texted you," I say.
Natalia nods. "She was worried. She said you weren’t answering anyone."
I stare at her for a second, then ask what’s been circling my brain since she walked into my apartment last night.
"Why did you come?"
Her expression doesn’t change.
"Because she sounded scared," she says simply. "And because… I was scared to. If you were hurt, I wanted to be the one to show up. I just thought you would have set me away."
The delivery buzzer goes off, saving me from having to respond to that with anything coherent.
I grab the food at the door and set it on the counter, the smell of eggs, bacon, french toast and coffee filling the apartment. She needs to eat for this conversation, and I need her distracted with something while I try to figure out how to fix this mess between us.
Natalia’s stomach growls quietly, and she looks mildly offended at her own body for betraying her.
"Sit," I tell her, nodding toward the island.
She hesitates, then slides onto one of the stools, hands folding together on the counter like she’s trying to keep them from shaking.
I set a plate in front of her, then one in front of myself. She stares at the food as if she’s not sure she deserves it.
"You haven’t eaten," I say.
"I'm fine," she lies.
I raise a brow. I know full well that she has to be hungry. She’s been caring for me since last night.
She sighs. "Okay, I might be a little hungry."
"Eat."
She takes a bite, slow at first, then another, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly.
I lean back against the counter, watching her, and the silence stretches.
Natalia sets her fork down after a few bites, fingers tightening around it as if she needs something to hold on to.
"There’s something else," she says.
I brace automatically.
She takes a breath. "I quit."
My body stills. "You what?"
"I quit Legacy," she repeats, and the words sound steadier this time, like she’s already said them to herself a hundred times. "After the way Carey handled the email. After the way Gabriella backed her up. I couldn’t work there anymore."
