“It’s not a big deal,” I add quickly, then slow myself down. “And it’s not forever. Just until you find something. Or don’t. Totally up to you. Just throwing it out there as an option.”
Her gaze searches my face. Not suspicious. Just assessing. “I-, I wouldn’t want to complicate things,” she stumbles over the words as she states them.
“You wouldn’t be.” And I mean it. That’s the problem. “And if it’s weird or uncomfortable, you can bail. No hard feelings.”We’d be fine right? Separate rooms. Separate schedules. We can keep it casual, easy.I want to smack myself for trying to believe it will probably be anything but this.
A beat passes. The air hums. “Let me think about it.” Her eyes stay on mine a second too long. Like she already knows the answer, but she just can’t say it yet.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Of course. No pressure.”
She heads for the door, throwing me one last look that lingers longer than necessary. That look lands. Not cautious, not distant, but interested.
When she’s gone, Dean lets out a low whistle. “Well, that was unexpectedly wholesome, but I know there’s an ulterior motive there.”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
“There better not be.” Sadie quips, her expression scarier than expected.
Luc laughs. “You offering up your spare room out of the goodness of your heart?”
“I’m just trying to make things easier for her,” I insist. “She’s practically family.”
Hayden meets my gaze. “Careful,” he warns quietly.
Yeah. I know.I just don’t care as much as I probably should, and my jaw tightens. “About what?”
He shrugs, arching one brow. “Just saying, be careful.”
Then he turns away, leaving the warning hanging in the air. I sit back behind my kit, sticks warm in my hands, heart beating just a little faster than it should. I tell myself it was nothing. Just a solution to a problem.
But the truth? I didn’t just offer her a room. I offered her proximity. And after what’s already happened, I’m not sure I’m prepared for what that could mean.
Chapter Ten
Quinn
Drive
Incubus
Sunday evenings havea specific kind of silence. The moment where you can’t pretend you have infinite time to figure things out before Monday makes its demands. I watch the city pass through the window as Dean drives, the streetlights sliding in slow streaks across the glass.
The backseat is crowded with my life in pieces: garment bags with work outfits, a tote with my laptop and notebooks, a box of toiletries and daily essentials labeled in my own careful handwriting, like naming the thing will make it feel less like a leap. Mikey only has one assigned parking spot at his place, and street parking is nearly impossible, so I opted to leave my car parked at Dean’s, which is why they’re bringing me into the city.
Sadie sits beside me, her thigh pressed against mine, warmth and familiarity grounding me the way it always has. She’s chatty when she’s nervous. She’s quiet when she’s sure. Tonight, she’s somewhere in between.
“You doing okay?” she checks, twisting slightly to look at me.
I nod, because it’s easier than explaining the complicated truth. That I’m fine and not fine. But I said yes anyway. The uneasy part of me wants to stay in the comfort of Dean’s guest room until I find a place, until I know the city, until everything feels predictable.
And the other part of me is aware. Aware that I agreed to this. That I said yes when Mikey offered his spare room the other day. That my pulse quickened in a way that had nothing to do with logistics.
“I’m okay,” I assure her. “I’m just thinking.”
Sadie smiles gently, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking but won’t embarrass me by saying it out loud. “It’ll be good. You’ll be closer to work. No more commuting. More sleep.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Dean glances at me in the rearview mirror, his expression steady. “Mikey’s place is solid. Lincoln Park is safe. It’s quiet. And he’s on the top floor. You won’t hear neighbors stomping around.”
