"You know us," Riley announces. "And we're very nice."
I should tell Riley to let it go. I should let Morgan make her own decision and stay out of it. But there's something about the way she's holding herself… Shoulders tight, eyes a little too bright, that reminds me of the early days after Riley's mom left. That feeling of being adrift, untethered, with no good options and too much pride to ask for help.
"Look," I start. "I'm not trying to pressure you. If you want to figure something else out, that's completely fine. But if you're interested, I can ask around. See who's hiring. You could work for a few weeks, get the car fixed, and then you're back on the road."
She's watching me like she's trying to figure out if this is a trick.
"Why would you do that?" she asks.
"Do what?"
"Help me. You don't know me."
I shrug. "You need help. I can offer it. Doesn't seem that complicated."
"People don't usually—" She stops, shaking her head. "Most people wouldn't go out of their way like this."
"Then most people are assholes."
Riley gasps. "Daddy! Bad word!"
"Sorry, kiddo." I'm not, really, but I ruffle her hair anyway. "But it's true. Sometimes people need help, and if you can give it, you should."
Morgan is still looking at me like I've spoken a foreign language, and I realize with a strange pang that maybe no one's helped her in a long time.
"Just think about it," I say. "No rush. The car's not going anywhere."
She nods slowly. "Okay. I'll... I'll think about it."
"Good." I glance at the clock on the wall, almost five. "I need to close up soon. You have a place to stay tonight?"
The hesitation before she answers tells me everything.
"I was going to find a campground or—"
And that's when Riley, because she has no sense of boundaries or appropriate offers to make to strangers, says brightly: "You can stay in our guest room!"
Fuck.
"Riley—"
"What? We have one! And nobody uses it except when Grandma and Grandpa visit, and they're not visiting right now."
Morgan's eyes go wide. "Oh, no. No, I couldn't possibly—"
"See?" I gesture at Morgan, grasping for an out. "She doesn't want to—"
"Why not?" Riley demands, looking between us like we're both being ridiculous. "We have the room. She needs a place to sleep. It's perfect."
It's not perfect. It's the opposite of perfect. It's inviting a complete stranger into my home, where my daughter sleeps, where I've built walls to keep the world at a safe distance.
But Morgan is looking at me with those hazel eyes, and she's clearly embarrassed, and she's saying, "Really, you don't need to do that. I can find a motel or—"
And that's the problem, isn't it?
If I say no, I'm the asshole who offered to help but drew the line at actual hospitality. I'm the guy who'll give her a discount on car parts but won't offer a spare bed when she clearly needs one.
I can already see how this looks. Small-town mechanic, supposedly helpful, but not that helpful.
