“YOU SHOULDN’T BE WATCHING THIS MUCH NEWS. ROTS your brain,” Clyde announces as he enters the open living space. He was quiet on his feet this time, which might mean he’s getting better—or else I was just too absorbed in the TV to notice him.

Either way, I feel like a thief caught in the act. On instinct, I scramble for the remote and flick the screen off before I even consider how fucking bizarre that is.

Clyde stops and quirks a brow at me, suspicious—then he continues walking into the kitchen. He definitely looks more comfortable this morning. “Dang, girl, you must be taking that brain rot seriously.”

“Yeah. My body is a temple and all that.” I force a smile, turning to look at him over the back of the couch.

He reaches for the coffeepot but stops again. “Gwen, you’re creeping me out. Is this what it’s like to have a teenager and catch them doing something they shouldn’t be?”

“I’m just checking in on you. How are you feeling?”

He shakes his head, pouring himself a steaming mug of black coffee. “I feel like you’re changing the subject.”

I scoff. “Nah. Me? No.”

His watery blue eyes are alert and I try not to squirm as he shuffles to the living room and takes a seat on the armchair set ninety degrees from me. He takes a deep sip, closing his eyes briefly and sinking back into the cushions. “Oh yeah. That’s good.”

“Nothing quite like—”

“Now that I’m caffeinated,” he cuts me off, “do you want to talk about how you were trying to spot Bash on the news?”

I freeze but only for a beat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Yes, I do. Bash has been gone for three days, and with each day, my worry has grown. I check for updates about the fire. The containment levels. The evacuation alerts. Any statements from government officials.

And more than that, I worry about Bash. I worry that he’s out there doing something dangerous. It doesn’t matter that he has thousands of flight hours and years of experience. It doesn’t matter that he seems nothing short of capable in every single thing he does.

I mean, hello, that kiss? That mouth? Those hands?

Capable.

But then, on top of that, I worry that he hasn’t entirely healed from his surgery.

And then I worry about the fact that it was probably me who chased him out of town. So if anything happens, it will be my fault.

Basically, I’m a giant ball of anxiety over the guy, and it’s entirely possible that I am exaggerating my role in the situation.

Maybe it wasn’t me.

It probably wasn’t.

That’s his job. I bet I haven’t even crossed his mind.

“Okay, sure,” Clyde drawls. “Is this the game where we pretend there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

Fucking Clyde. “You’re not supposed to be this snoopy.”

He scrubs a hand over his wiry, gray stubble. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that I’m invested. I worked really hard to get you both under one roof.”

My head snaps in his direction. “You what?”

I suspected something at the hospital—but hearing him so bluntly confirm it still shocks me.

“Don’t act so surprised. I love that big doofus like he’s my own, and to be frank, you’re feeling an awful lot like my second doofus.”

My heart swells. I never thought being referred to as one of Clyde’s doofuses would be so heartwarming.

He chuckles now, eyes taking on a faraway look. “They don’t call me Crazy Clyde for nothing. Sometimes you gotta be a bit out there to see what’s going on. And with you two, I’ve seen it since he came back from that night stuck in the airport and wouldn’t stop bringing you up. Never seen the guy check his phone as much as he did in the weeks and months after that. He tries to be all bland and grumbly, but I know he never gave up hope that you might contact him.”

Now my heart squeezes. Somehow, I didn’t realize Clyde was this in the loop.

My shoulders sag, and I drop the pretense. “I would have. I planned to. I checked my phone a lot too. The universe kind of fucked us. And now…” I trail off, gazing out the expansive windows toward the lake. I’ve lived here for a month, and strangely, that view never gets old.

Strangely, this place that isn’t mine at all has started to feel like home.

“Now with Tripp and just everything… I don’t know, Clyde. I think that ship might have sailed. I don’t want to make an issue out of it. It feels like the universe is pitted against us—”

He scoffs. “Quitter talk. The universe isn’t stopping either of you from doing anything.”

I shoot the older man a disbelieving look.

“Gwen, I know you believe in all this stuff, and that’s great. I also believe in a lot of things that other people don’t, but don’t let that stop you from going after what you want. Sometimes things won’t just fall into your lap because the universe provides or whatever.”

I snort at that. I don’t think I’m that far gone, but I do have a habit of trying to go with the flow and avoiding causing any ripples. “Harsh.”

“Good. You both need it.”

“Clyde, that’s his son. He really wants a relationship with him, and that will be infinitely more complicated with me in the picture.”

“So? All the best things in life are complicated.”

I sigh. Wise words from the most unlikely source.

I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with Clyde. If someone had told me months ago that he’d be the man giving me a fatherly pep talk, I’d have laughed in their face.

“Gwen, listen. I’ve known him for years now, and he might be one of the best people I know. Prickly and ornery and set in his ways, but good. He’s been hurt. He’s been told a few too many times that he isn’t good enough. Between his ex-wife and Tripp’s mom, he’s learned the hard way that people use him as a stepping stone to the life they really want. He expects to be left behind.”

Clyde pauses for dramatic effect or to sip at his coffee—I’m not sure which. What I do know is that my stomach has twisted into another knot with each of his sentences.

“And those are tough wounds to heal. Especially for a man so paralyzed by all his own regrets. He’s stuck. I see it, and I bet if you looked hard enough, you’d see it too. But when he met you? You shook him up. It changed something. It changed him. And I reckon that if you have the fortitude to keep at him, he might just soften up for you. It won’t be easy. But nothing worth having ever comes easy.”

I roll my lips together, considering Clyde’s assessment.

“But, Gwen, if you aren’t serious about the guy, you should leave sooner rather than later. Find that next gig. Keep chasing those dreams. Because this is harder on him than he’ll ever let on.”

Nausea crawls up my throat, that churning, dropping feeling in my gut hitting hard and fast. It’s the same one I felt when he turned and stormed out three days ago, expecting the worst of me.

Am I serious about him?

I mull over the question, but it doesn’t take long. I am. There’s a reason I took the position in this town, a reason I moved on from Tripp immediately. And there’s a reason I’m sitting here sick over him.

I don’t tell Clyde any of those things. But I do nod.

And then I turn the TV back on right in front of him, determined to catch sight of Bash.