Page 104 of Show Me

Her eyes flick to me, then away. “I know.”

She moves straight to the desk, setting her purse down, reaching for the computer like she’s been here the whole time. No pause. No look back.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine.” There’s no emotion on her face or in the tone of her voice. Dismissive. Indifferent.

My hands curl at my sides. “Fine doesn’t make you late.”

She exhales. “I stayed with Bella. When I went outside, my tire was flat.”

Everything in me stills. “Flat?”

She nods, already typing. “It’s handled.”

Handled. Of course it is. “Did someone help you?”

“I put on the spare. I’ll get the tire fixed tonight.” Like it’s nothing. Like it’s always nothing.

“Dominic should’ve helped you.” I snatch my phone off the counter. The least he could’ve done was put on the damned spare for her. “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve changed it for you.”

The words are out before I can stop them. Dad arches an eyebrow but keeps flipping through pages like he’s not listening to every word we say.

Her hands pause on the keyboard. Then keep moving. “Because I didn’t need to.”

The office goes quiet. Clock ticking. The phone in my hand forgotten. “You didn’t need to?”

“You made it clear. This isn’t that kind of situation.”

The words hit harder than they should. Closed off. Careful. I drag a hand through my hair, turning away before facing her again. “At least tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

I shake my head as my heart pounds in my chest. “You’ve had someone in your house. Notes showing up. Now a flat tire. You think that’s nothing?”

Her chin tips upward. “I think tires go flat.”

Seriously? She’s not even considering that it could be part of the pattern? That someone intentionally sabotaged her car? What if she’d been driving when it went flat?

I swallow hard. “And the rest?”

“I think if I start turning everything into something bigger, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Inconvenience? That’s what this is?”

“It’s my life,” she shoots back. “And I’m trying to live it.”

Silence stretches only to be interrupted by the scraping of Dad’s chair legs as he gets up and exits the room.

Once the door shuts behind him, I stop in front of her desk. “I’m not asking you to panic. I’m asking you to let me help.”

Something flickers across her face. Gone just as quickly. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“No. You didn’t.” She never did. I pushed my way into the middle of her life, and now, she’s shoving me back out.

She turns back to the computer, typing again, steady, controlled as if a wall has been built between us. I stand there a second longer, jaw tight, hands flexing once before I shove them into my pockets.

Her desk isn’t empty anymore. But it feels farther away than it did this morning. I turn, grab the nearest set of plans, and head for the back without another word.