Page 40 of Free

And I would happily take you up on it

I toss the phone onto the couch and drop into the cushions beside it, rubbing my sore shoulder and grinning like an idiot. Sunshine hops up, sprawling across my lap with her head on my thigh, wagging her tail like she can feel the shift in my mood.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter, scratching behind her ears. “I’m just being friendly.”

But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. Nothing about this feelsjust friendly.

TWENTY-ONE

Charlie

I stare at Nick’s last text—I would happily take you up on it—my heart doing that stupid little fluttery thing I’ve been trying to ignore for years. It shouldn’t be this complicated. A text. A simple suggestion. And yet here I am, clutching my phone like it’s a grenade and the pin’s already been pulled.

Garrett’s voice echoes in my mind.Be careful, Charlie. You and Nick have been through a lot.Yeah, no kidding. But how do yoube carefulwhen every interaction with him feels like stepping into quicksand? The more time I spend with him, the deeper I sink, the more impossible it feels to ever get free.

I swipe a hand across my face and groan softly, startling Fluff, who’s been rubbing his head against my thigh while I sit cross-legged in bed. He stops and gives me a look—half curiosity, half judgment—before flopping onto his side like he’s personally offended by my indecision. Orange, stretched out on a pillow behind me, lets out a lazy yawn, the tip of his tail flicking in time with my hesitation.

What’s the worst that could happen?I tell myself.It’s just yoga. It’s just Nick.

But it’s notjustNick. It’s never been just Nick.

I open the text thread again, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What if Garrett’s right? What if I’m walking into something that’s going to hurt more than it heals? Because let’s be real—Nick isn’t exactly a safe bet. He’s unpredictable. Hot and cold. He says one thing but means another and I constantly feel like I have to read between the lines. I’m not sure my heart can take another round of that.

But then I think about the coffee shop yesterday. The way he made me laugh, made me feel lighter than I have in months. The way he looked at me, like I was something more than a series of bad decisions and failed relationships. Like I still mattered.

I chew on my bottom lip, glancing down at Fluff, who’s now batting lazily at Orange’s tail. “What do you think?” I ask, though I’m not expecting an answer. “Am I being stupid? Setting myself up for more heartbreak?”

Fluff chirps, his tail thumping against the bed.

“Right. Because you’re a cat and all you care about is food and naps.”

But even as I say it, I know I’ve already made my decision. My thumb moves almost on its own, typing out the message before I can second-guess myself.

I’m free right now if you are.

I hit send, my stomach twisting into knots. The second it’s done, I want to snatch the words back, to undo the decision. The man hasn’t spoken more than a handful of words to me in the last year. Of the words he has spoken, most of them have been “friend.” Making myself available right now might be a little intense.

But I am who I am and what’s done is done.

But then the phone buzzes in my hand, and the sight of Nick’s reply has me grinning before I even read it.

Nick

Works for me. Good to come to my place?

My heart leaps, and just like that, the doubts quiet. For now, at least. I don’t know what I’m doing, or if it’s the right thing. But I do know that spending time with Nick feels like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. Maybe Garrett’s right to be cautious. Maybe I should be, too. But I can’t help thinking…

What if this is the start of something good?

I tell Nick I’ll be on my way shortly, and he shoots me his address. I paste it into my GPS then snatch up my yoga mat, wave a distracted goodbye to Angela and Garrett, and head outside, the ocean breeze immediately cooling the heat that’s gathered under my skin.

The drive to Nick’s feels anticipatory. His place is tucked away on a secluded stretch of beach that makes you forget the rest of the world exists—a small, weathered beach house, painted a muted seafoam green, with a white porch that wraps around one side. Two worn chairs and a small table sit out front, angled just right to catch the breeze off the water. How many times has he sat on that porch, cracked open a cold drink, and let the day slip by unnoticed? How often has that second chair been occupied?

The gravel crunches beneath my tires as I pull into his driveway. My pulse picks up as I step out of the car, a sense of homecoming tugging at my chest even though this is the first time I’ve been here. As I climb the porch steps, a deep, throaty bark echoes from inside.

I freeze. That’s new. I mean, right? Nick and I haven’t been all that close recently, but given how often we talked before his accident, I feel like I would have known if he had a dog.

Before I can knock, the door swings open, and I’m greeted not just by Nick—who looks ridiculously good in a white tank top and gray sweats—but also by what appears to be a bear masquerading as a German Shepherd. The dog is massive, her chest puffed out, ears rigid, and her eyes laser-focused on me like I might be hiding contraband in my yoga mat. She plants herself at Nick’s side, her stance screaming,Try something. I dare you.

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