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“Not a boyfriend. A site lead. Charming. Good with people. Good at making a problem sound smaller.”

My throat tightened.

“I raised a concern twice. He said he’d checked. Said I needed to eat, needed to stop working so hard.” I stared at the table. “I was exhausted. I accepted his answer.”

The stove ticked behind him.

“Something went wrong,” I said. “People got hurt.”

Cash didn’t move.

I pressed my thumb against the crumb on the table. “I’m not telling you the rest today.”

“All right.”

“I know you aren’t him.”

He nodded once.

“But when you make things feel handled, I stop. I eat the sandwich. I forget to check the phone. I sleep through half the morning.” My voice sharpened despite my efforts. “And I like it. That’s the problem.”

His eyes stayed on mine.

“I don’t know how to like that without waiting for the cost.”

There. More than I had meant to say. Not everything, but enough that my chest felt exposed in my buttoned-up shirt.

Cash looked down briefly.

When he spoke, he didn’t tell me there would never be a cost.

He didn’t tell me I could trust him.

“Would having it on paper help?”

“Having what on paper?”

“What I’m offering. What I’m not. What you need me to ask before I do.”

I looked at the stack of haulage calculations. “You’re suggesting documentation.”

“I’ve met you.”

A laugh escaped me. Small, but real.

His smile arrived carefully this time.

“I’m not claiming paper makes a man safe,” he said. “But it gives you something to point at if his actions don’t match his mouth.”

That landed somewhere uncomfortable and hopeful.

I had spent my working life putting promises where they could be checked. Delivery windows. Responsibilities. Cancellation terms. Not because ink prevented failure, but because it made failure harder to disguise as a misunderstanding.

“Yes,” I said.

Cash reached for my pen.

“Not that one.”