“I’m not those men,” he says quietly. “Please hear me when I say that because I mean it.”
“I know.” I swallow hard, trying not to let him see how much his compassion affects me. The fact he thinks respect and kindness should be normal makes my chest ache. “I just meant?—”
“I know what you meant.” His thumb brushes my cheek again. “And for what it’s worth, there’s no timeline here. No expectations. We can go as slow as you need. I’m not going anywhere.” He bobs his head and cringes slightly. “Well, I mean as long as you want me around I’m not going anywhere. I just…like being around you. You make me feel…normal. Like I don’t have a very public job where everyone has an opinion about where I should be or what I should be doing.”
I take a deep breath but glance away when I tell him, “You make me feel…less like a street rat and more like a person who actually means something.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He takes my good hand in his. “Is that what you think of yourself, truly? You see yourself as a…a street rat?”
I look down at our joined hands, uncomfortable with the earnestness in his eyes. Being seen this clearly makes my skin itch. “I mean, compared to all this…” I gesture vaguely around his beautiful home with my bandaged hand, wincing when the movement pulls at my stitches. “It’s just reality, Shepherd. I work in a bar. I volunteer at a food pantry that ran out of food and I had to turn people away. I’m about to be homeless because my landlord just sold our building and we have three weeks to relocate or be on the street, and I just had to get stitches from your team doctor because I can’t afford a hospital visit. That math isn’t complicated.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt me. He just waits, letting me get it all out.
“People like you and people like me don’t usually…” I trail off, not sure how to finish that thought without sounding pathetic.
“Don’t usually what?” he prompts gently. “Get along? Care about each other? See each other as equals?”
“All of the above,” I mutter.
“Sutton,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that makes me finally meet his eyes. “You are extraordinary.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “Right.”
“I mean it.” His expression is so earnest it hurts to look at. “You work harder than anyone I’ve ever met. You care about people—like at the food pantry—when it would be easier not to. But at the same time, you don’t take shit from people. It’s one of the things I admire about you. You see beauty in broken things when most people would throw them away.” He pauses. “That’s not nothing. That’s everything.”
Something hot and tight coils in my chest, and I have to blink rapidly to keep from crying.
“Stay with me.” The offer comes out of his mouth like a jack-in-the-box.
“What?”
“Stay. Here. With me,” he says again. “You said you have three weeks to find somewhere new, so stay here. I have plenty of room.”
I shake my head adamantly. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not? It makes sense. You need a place and I have one.”
“Shepherd, no. I’m sorry, but that’s not the upgrade I’m quite ready for.”
“Alright,” he says easily. “Then…stay in the guest house.”
I freeze. “Thewhat?”
“My guest house.” He gestures vaguely toward the backyard like it’s nothing. “It’s out back and it’s completely separate from this house. You’ll have space and privacy and I promise I won’t bother you.”
My gaze flicks toward the window but I can’t see anything beyond the rain and darkness.
“I can’t?—”
“You can,” he says gently. “Nobody has ever stayed in it before. It’s literally just taking up space and it would be perfect for you. I’ll make it perfect for you. However you want.”
I square my shoulders. “I’m not taking handouts.”
“Okay.” He meets my eyes calmly. “Then pay rent.”
That knocks the air right out of my argument. “What?”
“Pay rent,” he repeats. “If that’s what you need to feel okay about it.”
