“Morgan came over to talk me into getting a live-in nurse. Everyone seems to want that for me.”
“Oh.”
How much am I allowed to know about this?
Has Grey told him I know?
A moment of silence stretches between us, filled only by the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner. I glance around the living room, taking in the bookshelves lined with old, well-loved volumes and framed family photos. It’s a space that feels lived in, warm, and welcoming—much like the man beside me.
“Don’tohme, dear. I know Grey talked with you about it. He told me that you urged him to tell me his feelings on the matter,” Mr. Donovan says with a knowing smirk. “Which was, by the way, good advice, but at the same time unfair. How can I keep saying no when it’s that important to him?”
“He’s just worried about you, you know,” I say gently, my eyes settling on a picture of a young Grey, smiling awkwardly with braces and a mop of long, dark-blond hair.
God, that’s precious.
Mr. Donovan follows my gaze, and a fond smile tugs at his lips. “I know, and he means well. But I’ve always been more comfortable with my own company. I’m not sure how I’d handle having someone around all the time.”
I nod, understanding the sentiment more than he might realize. “It can be hard to adjust to, letting someone into your personal space like that.”
We fall into another comfortable silence. I let my fingers trace the edge of the piano keys lightly, not pressing down, just feeling the smoothness beneath my fingertips. It’s calming and grounding.
“Is that the only reason for you saying no? If you don’t mind me asking,” I venture cautiously.
“I don’t mind you asking. I would love to talk about it with someone who isn’t yet too close to have a biased opinion.”
I give him a smile that I hope is encouraging. He nods distractedly as he gathers his thoughts, his expression clouding briefly. “It really comes down to the fact that I don’t want a stranger in my home.”
“She wouldn’t be a stranger for long. This is only our second time meeting, and I already don’t feel like you’re a stranger. You’re good at making friends.”
Mr. Donovan reaches out to take my hand with one of his and pats it with the other. “Such a nice thing to say, dear.”
“It’s just the truth.”
“Morgan makes it sound like it’s exactly what I need. And honestly, I need help. I noticed it myself. But the nurses Grey showed me… I don’t like any of them. And I don’t know if it’s just because of their profiles or if I’m being unfair.”
“He showed you online profiles?”
Grey, you nugget.
I hardly know Mr. Donovan and can already tell that letting him get to know people over an impersonal online profile is not the way to go here.
“He did,” he confirms, rubbing the back of his neck. “Morgan told me I should let one come to eat cake. She says that there are a lot like her, who are friendly and open, that it comes with the job.”
“Why don’t you ask her if she wants the job?” I suggest, tilting my head as I look at him.
Am I overstepping?
He sighs, his brow furrowing in thought. “I thought about it, but I don’t want her to feel the need to stick around just because we’re kind of family.”
“Did you ask her?”
He shakes his head, a small, rueful smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t.”
“From what I’ve seen, and it’s admittedly not much, Morgan needs and enjoys having family around her right now. If you would like to try the nurse thing with her, I guess this would be good for her too. She doesn’t have a plan or direction right now, and she would like to stay close to Oliver. So, all I see is that it would be good for both of you. For all of you. It would keep her in Seattle for Oliver, and Grey would feel better knowing she was here. And you would feel good knowing you had not a stranger but a friend around.”
Mr. Donovan looks at me, his eyes filled with something I can’t quite name. “You’re wise beyond your years, Miss Amelia.”
I shake my head, feeling myself blush. “Oh, I’m surely not.”
