She looked off. Sad. And if there is one thing I hate, it's seeing sadness in Lenora Wells' eyes.
She was talking to someone on the phone when I found her at the dock—her fiancé, I'm guessing.
If I didn’t like the guy before, I definitely don’t like him now. Not after her entire demeanour shifted as soon as she got off the phone.
I noticed she wasn't wearing her ring either. Weird, if you just got engaged. Don't women post that shit all over their social media as soon as the guy has proposed?
Then again, that level of attention has never been Nora's thing. I can’t imagine what it would have felt like having your engagement announced all over every media platform known to man.
But the worst part was the way she looked at me after the call ended. Like the light in her eyes had dimmed and I was seeing the person she became when I wasn't there anymore.
That wasn't her fault. I don't think it's mine either.
And against my better judgement, I still offered her a place tostay. Like I was supposed to fix something that doesn't belong to me, like I haven't spent seven years learning that you can't save people who don't ask to be saved.
What the fuck did I just do?
I run my hands over the edge of the desk. Somehow it becomes a small comfort in a day that's felt anything but.
The door opens and Nick steps in. He doesn't knock, just leans casually against the frame, arms crossed, eyes soft but assessing, scanning the studio like he always does—checking that I'm still here.
"You alright?" he asks. Voice even, but not probing. Just present.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"
He smiles faintly. "I'm good."
"I'm glad to hear that. And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
The corner of my mouth twitches. Old habits die hard, especially the ones about deflecting concern with humor.
"Did you talk to Nora yesterday?"
My shoulders tense as I shift in my chair.
"Yeah, briefly.”
"And?"
I consider lying. I consider sayingwe're good, everything is good,and locking myself back in spreadsheets and soundproof booths where emotions can't reach me.
But Nick has always had this way of seeing right through me. It's one of the things that makes him both invaluable and occasionally infuriating.
"And I don't know what to tell you," I admit. "We talked. It was fine."
"Heard you offered her a place to stay?"
I hesitate. "The cabin. Yeah."
Nick exhales through his nose, not quite a laugh. "Of course you did."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're exactly who you've always been, Nate. You’re a fixer. Or solver, whatever you want to call it.” He pauses.
"I'm not trying to fix anything," I say, but it sounds weak even to my own ears. "You know how my Mom gets when she's in planning mode and that lake house, with Ollie and Mia staying there is going to get crowded real qu?—"
“I think it’s good and a nice gesture too.” There’s a smirk and an undertone of sarcasm in his voice.
