“Okay, grandpa.” I think about how he smells like a sexy grandpa and I remind myself not to get close enough to find out if he smells like that right now.

I hum along with the music, aware of Nick watching me. It’s not like I can sweep the floor in a suggestive manner (not that I even want to), so I try to be competent. But then he says, so quietly I almost can’t hear him, “You don’t have to take everything on by yourself, you know.”

I stop, broom in midair, then spin around. “What?”

The lights turn off for one second. Two seconds. We stare at the ceiling, as if the answers to something are up there, until they flicker back on. Nick looks at me again. His face is even scruffier than usual at this time of night. “I said, you don’t have to do everything all by yourself.”

I snort and grip the broom handle tighter. “Okay. Uh, thanks for the advice.” I know he’s only offering me a platitude that’s meant to make me feel better, but it pisses me off. Like he knows. Like he even knows half of what I’m carrying on my shoulders.

“Seriously,” he says. “I can finish up here. Go home and go to bed.”

Bed. The thought of sinking into my mattress, listening to the rain fall on the sloped roof of the carriage house as I’m tucked under the orange, white, and yellow quilt I found at a yard sale, sounds so good that I almost melt into a puddle right there on the floor. The mere idea of sleeping all by myself is almost sensual. But I have some busywork assignment for one of my online classes that needs to be finished by tomorrow, and if I’m up then I might as well make a pie because I have the crust chilling in the fridge, and I can see the way this night is gonna go. It’s not going to involve bed in any way, shape, or form until at least 3 A.M.

“You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?” Nick asks, his voice uncertain and low. And I don’t know what it is. If it’s the fact that rain has always made me feel safe, or the fact that everything’s built up so much that it has to explode, or that I’m so tired. At least if I’m talking about my shitshow of a life, then I’m not thinking about how Nick’s ass looks in his jeans, which is obviously not an appropriate place for my mind to wander.

I don’t know why Nick is asking me, what’s making him push his way into the uncharted waters of my personal life, but I don’t even hesitate before I unload it all on him.

I lean against the broom handle, one hand on a hip like I’m about to start a stand-up set. “Well, my dad’s been accusing the staff members at his facility of stealing from him, which is a real bummer because they definitely aren’t and so he’s worked up and they keep calling me and it’s all a big mess. Since no one else is around to take care of him, it’s kind of my problem. And, as you know, Milo’s back in town, but he hasn’t given me an apology or anything for leaving me here to care for our father. He did, however, expect me to help him move into a terrible duplex that, oh yeah, is owned by a grown-ass man who chooses to call himself Mikey Danger. Also I have business school homework. And I need pie but pie doesn’t currently exist.”