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“It doesn’t matter if I like you.” I shrug. “Because, like I said, it’s nothing.”
Her shoulders go stiff and her eyes study mine. “Right.” She stirs the pot. “Just so I’m not confused where I stand. It’s nothing. I’m nothing. This is all”—she waves the spoon, sending splatters of red soup onto the counter—“nothing.”
It’s not nothing.
But I don’t tell her that.
“Yup. Nothing special.”
“Exactly,” she mutters, ripping off a paper towel from the roll and using it to wipe up the droplets. “I’m nothing special to you, but you helped me—more than once.” A breath. “So, dinner is the least I can do. Then,” she says, flipping one of the sandwiches, revealing a perfectly crisp, golden-brown toasting, “I’ll eat, gather my stuff and Steve, and get out of your hair so you can get back to your life.”
My brows drag together. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Like we’ve established.” She lifts one shoulder, drops it. “This is all nothing, and since my car’s back, and George and Ash made it up here, clearly, the time to get out is now.” A beat. “While I still can.”
The smart thing would be to let her go. Hell, the smart thing would be to help her pack her shit so she leaves all that much sooner.
But…some part of me can’t.
“That’s a terrible idea,” I blurt instead.
She drops some sprigs of rosemary into a pan then frowns up at me. “I’m sure you’re ready to have your house back.”
I should be. But…it would feel empty. Too quiet without the tiny demon’s snoring, without Nova’s presence.
She starts juicing a lemon, catching the seeds in her palm.
“Stay tonight,” I murmur.
Her shoulders hitch up again. “Lake, I—” She shakes her head. “This is a dumb conversation. It’s pointless to have me stay here when you just want me to go. WhenIwant to go. When I want to be anywhere else, withanyoneelse.”
I should let her leave.
She doesn’t want to be here.
But my palms settle on those shoulders drawn up so high and tight, my fingers gently rubbing at the taut muscles. “Maybe,” I admit. “But it’s not safe for you to drive home. The roads are still dangerous.”
She cranes her neck to look up at me, her hand tight around the lemon, juice dripping slowly over her fingers. “They made it up here.”
“Butterfly.”
A blink. Slow.
Her cheeks red.
Her body wavering the slightest bit and giving me the only excuse I have.
“They also didn’t have half a bottle of vodka.”
She frowns then sighs. “I—”
Reaching by her, I bring the bottle close, point at it’s almost empty contents.
“Oh.” A beat. “Right.”
I slide my hands down the outsides of her arms, turn her, and cup her jaw. “Stay tonight,” I order softly.
Her shoulders rise and fall on a slow exhale. “I would be fine.”
