He blinked at her and she was back at his side. He’d never seen her flit quite so fast. He understood all at once. She was terrified to be here alone. And he didn’t blame her. Her door was kicked in and she probably hadn’t lain down on her bed since she’d bolted out of it after hearing the break-in. She wasn’t eager to curl up alone in her unlocked house and he didn’t blame her.

“Mary,” he said after a second. “Maybe I could drop you somewhere. You could stay with someone tonight? Fin? Via?”

She was shaking her head. “No. No. They have Kylie and Matty. Enough on their plates. Their lives. I don’t—” She shook her head even harder. “Maybe a hotel instead.”

He thought of Mary alone in a huge hotel room. Somehow, even though he knew that the class of a fancy room would suit her better than his humble apartment ever would, the idea of her being alone tonight wasn’t at all palatable.

“Come to my place,” he told her, without taking a second to think about all the ways that invitation could be misconstrued.

Her brow furrowed.

“It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean. And you’d have company. And I don’t have kids or a life. I mean, I have a life, but nothing you’d be interrupting. I have to get brunch with my dad tomorrow, but frankly, I’d be thrilled if I had an excuse to cancel. And first thing tomorrow we’ll get someone to fix your door so you won’t have to worry. And you could just have a break. Be in a different part of the city and relax. Not that Bed-Stuy is, like, an amazing vacation destination, but still, it might be nice to—”

“Okay.”

He blinked down at her. “Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll come. Let me just grab a few things.”

“Okay, you’ll come to my place?”

Now she was the one blinking. “Well, am I invited or not?”

“Invited.”

“So, let me get my stuff.”

He picked up his messenger bag and arranged it over his shoulder for something to do. Mary was coming to spend the night at his place. Huh. He’d thought for sure she’d say no. It hadn’t been an empty invitation, but he really hadn’t thought there was almost any possible way she’d say yes. But she was packing a bag that very second. With things she’d need to spend the night with him.

Well, not with him. But at his house and—Oh, crap. He had a freaking studio apartment. How had this slipped his mind?! A bed and a love seat, that’s all she wrote. Not even a blow-up mattress. He pictured himself in some nineties rom-com where he and Mary would end up sharing his bed “platonically” only to wake up spooning and in love.