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“I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t have to.”

“No.” I grabbed his wrist before he could move away. “It’s not you.”

He looked down at my hand. “That’s usually not followed by anything good.”

“Can we go inside?”

He stepped aside. “After you.”

My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat. The house smelled like him. There was a game playing on the television with the volume low.

Everything felt painfully fucking normal.

“Wine?”

“No.”

He looked at me. “Tequila?”

“No.”

“Water?”

“No.”

“Crack?”

I looked at him.

He shrugged. “I’m running out of options.”

I laughed even though I wanted to slap him.

He sat on the couch, but I remained standing. Nash watched me pace and on the third pass, he grabbed my hand. “Blair.”

I stopped.

“Sit down.”

I sat on the opposite end of the couch. He looked at the space between us.

“Did I do something?”

“No.”

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Are you about to tell me you’re married?”

My eyes widened. “What?”

He laughed. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re sitting over there like you’re about to tell me you have another family.”

“That’s not funny.”