Page 85 of Stuck with my Guarded MVP
I gathered the scraps of paper on the counter, creasing them into tighter and tighter squares until the edges dug into my fingers.
“I’ll tell him.”
“When?”
“When the timing’s right.”
His head shook slowly, his brow knitted. “You’re the most direct, logical person I know. You don’t circle around topics. You don’t wait. You just say it.”
I gripped the glass harder. “What does that mean?”
Nolan tapped a finger once on the counter. “This not telling him, it isn’t logical."
He tapped the boxes once with his knuckles. “Think it through, Claire. You’re not making sense,” he said as he headed for the door.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I stood there, scraps of paper still pinched in my fingers.
What does he mean I am not acting like me?
I can be logical. Direct.
Except here I was, sneaking around with half-packed bags and no plan for the words that should’ve already been said.
The buzz of my phone broke the silence. Brooke.
I’m coming up. Don’t move.
I stared at the message a second too long, then set the phone face down. Of course. Nolan couldn’t leave it alone, so now he’d sent backup. Ignoring Brooke wasn’t an option.
A knock followed a minute later. Her knock was lighter, faster. I crossed the room and opened the door.
She stepped inside without waiting, her tote thumping onto the counter. The same brisk, no-nonsense energy she used to corral Emma and Sophie filled the room. But this time there was no smile to soften it. She planted herself in the kitchen, arms crossed, chin lifted. Business.
I stayed by the door a beat too long, already bracing.
“Claire Elizabeth Bennet,” she said, full-name sharp. “Look me in the eye and tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m packing,” I said, lifting my chin a little. The words came out flatter than I wanted. “We talked about this, me moving closer to you and the girls. I want to be ready when I find the right place.”
Brooke’s eyes didn’t soften. If anything, they narrowed. She crossed her arms tighter, hip bumping the counter. "That’s not what I’m talking about.”
My stomach pinched. I grabbed the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and wiped an invisible spot on the counter. “Then what?”
Brooke didn’t blink. “That you haven’t told Liam you’re looking for apartments.”
“Why does it matter that I haven’t told Liam?”
“Why does it matter?” Her voice jumped half an octave, eyes widening. “Claire, it’s common courtesy. The man let you live in his apartment. He cooked for you. He cooked for my girls. And you’re what? Planning to slip out without saying a word? Maybe leave a note?”
Heat crawled up my neck. I stared at my half-full glass of water on the counter. “I’ll tell him,” I muttered.
“No, see, that’s the thing.” Brooke leaned in, eyes sharp now. “The you I know would’ve already done it. You’d have made a list of potential thank-you gifts, probably with a color-coded column for price ranges. Instead, you’re zipping suitcases shut like you’re sneaking out in the middle of the night.”
My lips pressed together. I hated how right she sounded. But if I told him, this would be over. Simple as that. I grabbed the glass and pressed my thumb against the condensation.
“Liam’s nice. If I say I’m leaving, he’ll just tell me I don’t have to go. I don’t want to put him in that position.”
