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I do.

Clint is not a kid. He’s not harmless or mine to defend, either. He’s a twenty-eight-year-old man who has pushed himself into my home with a shaky legal foothold and more courage than I gave him credit for.

A sound comes from the hallway, and both of us jump.

Clint steps out with the towel still around his waist, phone in one hand, moving fast toward the bathroom. Don and I both shift away from each other as if physical distance can prove we weren’t whispering.

Clint stops halfway.

I try to arrange my face into something neutral, while Don raises a hand in a ridiculous wave.

“Just talking dinner plans,” he says.

Clint’s gaze moves from him to me.

“Cool,” he says.

He disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Don exhales. “We are very bad at this.”

I turn toward the master bedroom. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“We need a closed door.”

We move down the hall quickly and quietly, two grown men sneaking like children.

I lock the door behind us.

The master bedroom looks exactly how we left it a year ago.

Don presses one ear lightly to the door. “Do you think he can hear us?”

“No.”

“I can hear him moving around under the spray.”

“And that’s why he can’t hear us.”

Clint is naked in my guest bathroom. Or not my guest bathroom. His bathroom for now, I suppose.

I wasn’t going to sleep in this room. I had decided that just before the flight. I was going to take the smaller one, put Don at his rental down the road, and let the master sit untouched like a museum exhibit.

Don turns from the door. “You are being much calmer than I expected.”

“I’m very not calm.”

“You haven’t thrown any vases.”

“We don’t have any in this house.”

“You know what your problem is? You only want help that involves agreeing with you.” He points toward the hallway. “That man does amateur porn for a living and just sashayed through your living room like it’s the locker room at the Y.”

My stomach tightens at the word porn. Not because of Clint. Because I hear his voice in my speakers.

I look at the windows. Curtains half drawn, evening light burning gold along the edges. Outside, beyond the patio wall, the bay is turning silver-blue in the hour before dark. Beautiful. Indifferent.