“What is it?” I asked.
She glanced up. “Nothing.”
I gave her a look.
“That was unconvincing.”
She let out a small breath and looked back down at her plate. “I decided I’m going home for my sister’s surgery.”
I froze.
It wasn’t that I disapproved. How could I? Of course she should go. Of course she needed to be there. But the immediate thought that followed was not a noble one. It was simple, sharp, and selfish in a way I had no interest in examining too closely.
I did not like the idea of her being there without me.
Not because I wanted to insert myself into her family before she was ready, and certainly not because I imagined I had any right to. But her ex was there. Fear had a geography for her, and that town was part of it. Because if something in her past reached for her again, I wanted to be close enough to break its hand.
“Do you want me to come with you?” I asked.
Her eyes lifted to mine, and there was something unreadable in them before she said, “Would you like to?”
I set my fork down. “No,” I said. “I’d hate it. Small towns are exhausting, hospitals smell like surrender, and I’m generally opposed to long drives that don’t end in murder or decent coffee.”
She blinked.
Then I added, more quietly, “But if you’re asking whether I want to be there for you, yes. More than is probably reasonable.”
Something in her face softened.
“That’s a very dramatic answer.”
“You bring that out in me.”
Her mouth curved, but not quite enough to hide the nerves underneath it. “You wouldn’t even know what to do in my hometown.”
“I’d know how to stand beside you.”
She looked down at her coffee then, turning the mug slightly between her hands. “It would be strange,” she admitted. “You meeting them like that. My mother. Sophie. Everyone.”
“I don’t have to meet them. I can be there or in Seattle. It’s, what, thirty minutes from your home, right? I can wait but then if you need me in any way I’ll be close enough to come.”
“You make that sound very noble.”
“It’s not noble,” I said. “It’s strategy. You’ve made it abundantly clear that if I force your hand, you’ll become difficult.”
She smiled at that. “True.”
“Also,” I added, “I’m trying very hard to be the sort of man you don’t regret sleeping with.”
Her cheeks pinked at once. “That’s an annoyingly effective line.”
“Thank you.”
“I wasn’t complimenting you.”
“You did, though.”
She shook her head and took another sip of coffee, but the tension in her shoulders had eased.
