She watched him, waiting for him to add more, her body tight with nerves and the taste of bile replacing the delicious empanada flavor—but nothing came. It was probably just so he could get the timing of his supposedly well-meaning barbs right. She’d fallen for that trick before. They had come from her dad after he’d complimented something she’d baked and then commented on her weight, or from her uncle when he’d remarked about how many people the foundation had supplied with emergency housing funds and then followed up with a comment about how, if she wasn’t so naive, she’d understand those people just needed to stop being so lazy.

None of that came from Nash, though. Oh, he looked like he wanted to say something, as if it was bubbling up inside of him—but he didn’t.

“You’re not gonna say anything else about it?” she asked, trying to adjust to this new reality. “Offer some constructive criticism? Plot advice? Share your detailed twelve-point plan to rework the second act?”

He made the motion of locking his mouth closed with an invisible key and then throwing it over his left shoulder.

The mansplainer had nothing to say.

Until he did.

He grimaced and let out a groan, as if he couldn’t stop himself no matter how hard he tried. “You know, I know people in publishing. I can—”

She cut him off with a narrow-eyed glare. “No, thank you. My writing is just a hobby, something to do for fun. It’s pure escapism. It’s not like it’s important.”

“You are such a liar,” he said. “I’ve seen how much you read. There’s no way you don’t think books are important.”

Okay, he definitely had her there. But those were good books, amazing books, the kind of books that made people slow down their reading as they got closer to the end because they didn’t want them to end.

“Fine,” she said with a defeated sigh. “My book isn’t important.”

“Well, actually, it is.” He hooked a finger under her chin and lifted it so that she had no choice but to look him in the eyes. “Important people create important things.”

She waited for the snide follow-up, but there wasn’t one—not from Nash. In fact, there never had been since they’d met each other. That’s when she realized that even when he’d been mansplaining taking Sir Hiss on leashed walks or rearranging her furniture, he’d been doing it to help and not to put her in her place. The action may have been the same as the patronizing attention from her family, but the intent behind it couldn’t be more different. That didn’t excuse all of his well-actually bologna, but it did explain it. Nash really was trying to help. He was just making a royal fuck-up of the process.