Page 121 of She’s Worth the Risk

“Zinnia,” he says, looking up in shock.

He’s as handsome as always, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened. His glasses sit haphazardly on his nose, the walnut-brown waves of his hair all mussed, as if he’s been tugging on it in frustration.

In his hands, he holds his pencil and sketchbook. From here, I can just make out what he’s drawing. My heart skips a beat.

It’s me.

He rises too quickly, sketchbook and pencil clattering onto the coffee table, but he doesn’t notice. Instead, his eyes are glued to mine, wide and hopeful.

“What are you doing here, honey?” he asks, like he’s never seen a better sight in his life.

And every atom in my body sings with sweet relief.

“I’m so sorry.” I cross to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him close. Emotion thickens my throat, my voice breaking as I say, “I should never have walked out yesterday.”

“Hey.” He strokes a gentle hand over my hair. “I know it was a lot, and you needed time. I understand.”

I draw back, needing him to see my face. To see how much I mean every word.

“It wasn’t about you. About us. Because what you said… I want that. I want to stay in the city with you. I want this to be permanent.”

His eyes fill with emotion, and he takes off his glasses, pressing the back of his hand to his eyes.

“But…” I suck in a fortifying breath, hoping this doesn’t hurt him like I worry it will. “I can’t move in here.”

His face falls. “You don’t want to live with me?”

“I absolutely want to live with you, but there’s more to it than that.” I lower myself onto his leather sofa. “I have to tell you something. Something I probably should have told you sooner.”

He sinks beside me, his face lined with concern. “What is it?”

“You know my grandmother, Sylvia. She’s a donor to the art history department at NYU.”

“Sylvia,” Nick repeats, as if he can’t place the name. Then he sits up suddenly. “Wait. Sylvia Sinclair is your grandmother?”

“That’s her.”

“Shit.” He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “I never connected the name.”

“I didn’t know she was connected to the university, or I would have said something.” But as I say this, I realize how little I’ve told him about Gran. I never intended to keep Nick in the dark, but I guess I felt protective of her, much like she always has for me. And I wasn’t ready to admit how worried I’ve been. It was easier to distract myself with class, work, and sneaking around.

But underneath all that, maybe I wasn’t ready to let Nick into my life fully. Maybe I was still unsure about whether I’d get to keep him.

“How is she?” Nick asks, then his face contorts in a grimace. “Does she know about us?”

“Yes. I’d been trying to hide it from her because I wasn’t sure what she’d think, but…” I shake my head, still struggling to believe it. “She wanted it to happen, and enrolled me in your class because she thought we should meet. She also encouraged June to hire you at the community arts center. When I told her we’d fallen in love…” A laugh escapes me. “She was very pleased.”

Nick wipes a hand down his face, processing this. “Holy crap.”

I nod in agreement. My thoughts exactly.

His brow creases in confusion. “What does this have to do with us living together?”

My breath trickles out. “Gran’s… not great. That’s actually the reason I came to New York. Her neighbor Poppy called me, worried about Gran forgetting things, making little mistakes. I thought Poppy was overreacting at first, but I came to see what she meant. Gran needs support, and more than I can give her.”

I pause, my throat prickling as I think back over our conversation. Nick takes my hands, stroking his thumb across my knuckles. Even through my worries about Gran, his touch is enough to steady me. To remind me I’m not doing this alone.

“She’s moving into an assisted living facility on Remsen Street,” I say. “And… she’s leaving her house to me.”