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“You can take the bed,” he offered me, shocking me out of my awe. “I will take the couch,” he added when my uncomprehending eyes met his.
“Oh, no. I can take the couch. I’m the one imposing.”
“You’re not imposing. And guests do not sleep on the couch,” he informed me, shaking his head like the concept was ridiculous, like every movie and TV show about a friend crashing didn’t involve making up the couch for them. “It’s non-negotiable,” he added in a softer voice, his eyes still warm.
“If you insist,” I agreed, looking down at my feet then back up at him. “Thank you for letting me stay. I can’t explain how much I needed this. Without even realizing it.”
At the words, tears stung at my eyes, getting fought back with some quick blinking, not sure why I was feeling emotional about something as basic as civility.
“Come on, let me get you something warm. You must be freezing still,” he added, and I had to admit he was right about the house having a nip to it.
It was likely a nuisance sometimes, but it made me think thoughts like cuddling under covers, no one wanting to get out of bed to brave the cold, preferring to share each other’s warmth instead.
“Do you have tea?” I asked, following him out, mildly worried my heels might leave ugly indents on his pretty floor, so I kicked out of them at the mouth of the hallway, setting them aside. “If not, I can do coffee if you have sugar.”
“I actually do keep tea around. Wet tea bags stop bleeding,” he told me, going up into his cupboard to pull out a small glass airtight container full of teabags. “Tea is antiseptic too. Learned that from a buddy growing up who was diabetic, so he bleeded like a stuck pig if he got even a tiny cut. And since no kid wants to carry around little bottles of antiseptic and some of that staunching powder, his mom used to toss teabags into his pockets and backpack. Always worked. It was a habit from then on. I always kept them around.”
“That is actually really good to know,” I said, nodding as he took out a pot, filling it with water, then setting it on the stove, pulling a French press out of the cabinet, filling it with his coffee, then waiting for the water to boil as well.
“You alright?” he asked when he turned back to me, his hands going to his sides to grip the edge of the cabinet, his head ducked to the side slightly. “I know today was rough.”
“It wasn’t too bad,” I said, shaking my head. “Everyone wanted to cling to Bertram. I used to be their link to him. Today, they didn’t need me. You were right about Maren,” I told him. “I wish I had realized it sooner about her.”
“Well, you know now. Having a friend – a real one – will be good for you, I think. Especially one who already knows… how things were with you and your husband. So you won’t feel awkward, feeling like you have to drop this bomb on her.”
“Do you have a lot of friends?” I asked, wondering what that might be like.
“Aside from my coworkers?”
“They count too, but, yes, aside from them.”
“I have a lot of connections in this town. Hailstorm, The Henchmen, Sawyer and his team of investigators. All people I’d share a drink with if I saw them out at the bar or something, but not exactly close friendships. I think when work eats up as much of your life as it does mine and my coworkers’, you learn to make them your friends and family. Though, now with them starting to fall like flies, things are shifting a bit.”
“Fall like flies?” I asked, brows drawing together.
“Everyone was single for the first few years. Well, Lincoln always has a girl, but women have always been in and out of his life. But the rest of us never took on anything serious. Then Quin met Aven. And Gunner met Sloane. Then Kai and Jules finally shacked up. Almost half the crew have their own little lives outside of work now. So things are… transitioning,” he told me, turning back to pour my tea water and his own in the French press.
“Do you miss the old way?”
He paused at that, thinking it over. “Nah. I mean, it was nice for everyone to just be able to hang around no matter the time, not worry about who was going out of town and when. But I like this for them. They deserved some happiness. Some roots.”
“Them.”
“Hm?” he asked, pushing the plunger down into his coffee slowly.
“Them. You said they deserve happiness. Just them? Not you?”
He waved my teacup at me, beckoning me closer and the air felt thicker standing near him in his kitchen, the cup burning the palms of my hands as I cradled it. “I have a nice, quiet little life.”
