My dad's voice echoes in my head: *You fix what you can.*
Damn it.
"The motel's forty bucks a night," I hear myself say. "If you're trying to save money for the repairs, staying there for a few weeks is going to add up."
Morgan's biting her lip. "I know, but I can't just impose on you like that. You've already been so kind, and—"
"It's not an imposition if we're offering," I say, and even as the words come out, I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing. "Riley's right. We have a guest room. It's just sitting there. If it helps you save money to get back on the road faster, then..." I trail off, shrugging like this is no big deal when it's actually a huge deal.
"Are you sure?" Morgan asks quietly. "Because I really don't want to—"
"I'm sure," I lie.
Riley claps her hands together. "This is going to be so fun! You can have breakfast with us, and I can show you my room, and—"
"Riley, let her breathe," I say, but there's no heat in it. The decision's made, for better or worse, and now I just have to live with it.
Morgan looks between us, and for a moment I think she's going to refuse anyway. But then her shoulders drop slightly, and she nods.
"Okay," she says. "Just for a few days. Until I figure out what I'm doing. And I'll pay rent—"
"You won't."
"Casey—"
"You're saving money for car repairs. That's the whole point." I grab my keys from the counter. "Come on. You can follow me to the house. Oh, wait. Your car."
"Is very broken," Morgan finishes with a weak laugh.
"Right. Okay, let me lock up here, and you can ride with us. We'll come back tomorrow so you can get your stuff out of the car."
"I should probably grab a few things now," she says. "If that's okay? Just enough for tonight?"
"Yeah, of course."
I unlock the bay and she heads to her car, opening the back door to dig through the packed bags. Riley watches her go, then looks up at me with a grin that's far too knowing for a four-year-old.
"What?" I ask, wary.
"She's pretty."
"Riley—"
"And nice. And she liked my coloring."
"That doesn't mean—"
"You should marry her."
I choke on nothing. "I should what?"
"Marry her," Riley repeats, like it's obvious. "Then she could stay forever and we could all live together and she could read me bedtime stories because you do the voices wrong."
"I do not do the voices wrong."
"You make the princess sound like a pirate."
"That was one time—" I stop, realizing I'm arguing with a four-year-old about my storytelling skills. "Riley. I'm not marrying someone I just met."
