Her house isn’t a shed, as those idiots in the coffee shop said, but close. It’s a small cottage, maybe five hundred square feet, oozing with forced homeyness, like it’s convincing itself it’s a house with plants all over the tiny porch and a front window that’s too big for a place this size. A sprawling brick rancher with an enormous attached garage and workshop overshadows it from thirty yards back and they share a driveway, like the tiny house was an afterthought. Or a lawn decoration.

Her place is within walking distance of Seagrove’s downtown and a half-mile from Sunny’s, making convenience its best amenity. She directs me to the gravel lot between her front door and the road, and The Beast comes to a squeaking stop.

“Thanks for the ride,” she says, not sounding as chipper as usual. She works the handle, barely pushing the heavy door open and wincing with each movement.

“Wait. I’ll come around.” I rush to meet her there before her stubbornness puts her in more pain with a move that’s too quick.

She looks unsure when I lean into the cab beside her.

“Where are your keys?”

She motions to the bag at her feet. I maneuver around her, finding the keys and putting them in her left hand.

“Let’s do this easier than we did at the hospital,” I say, locking eyes with her. “What’s your pain level, one to ten?”

“Six.”

“Let’s not let it get any higher. I’ll carry you.”

“Um, no. That’s unnecessary. It’s just to the door⁠—”

“It’s getting out, walking, stepping up. You feel the most pain when your body is straight. I can keep you bent like you’re sitting.”

Her brow pinches into a worried V. “I could hobble.”

“You could, but the trip was hard enough. I only want to make it easier for you.”

When she hesitates again, I slip my hand over hers, taking a chance that she’ll remember my comfort, not just the pain I’ve caused. “I look rough, but I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Her soft smile widens like she’s almost breathless. “You are gentle. I know that already. It’s just…”

“Weird,” I finish for her. “I get it. But I’m here and happy to help. Or not. Whatever you’d like.”

“You, happy?” She gives me a challenging grin.

A smirk rises on my cheek as I lean against the doorjamb. “It happens from time to time. I know it’s hard to trust me since this is my fault in the first place.”

“No, it’s because you’re practically a stranger.” Her brow pinches as she fiddles with her gauzy dress. “I’m fully aware that it shouldn’t be you taking me home and carrying me through the door.”