Chapter 6
JOSH
I’ve messed up. I scrub the T-shirt between my palms, working the fabric back and forth until the stain blurs.
“Way to be cool, Collins,” I mutter to myself as I turn off the faucet and wring the bulk of the water out. “Extra points for being smooth.”
I made Lily laugh—mission accomplished—but then I had to freak her out by saying I’d ruin my entire closet just to hear that sound again. She looked at me like I’d confessed to setting up surveillance cameras in her bedroom. Smooth indeed.
The half bath is barely big enough for me to turn around without banging my elbows on something.
It’s decorated in that generic apartment beige with small feminine touches added in: a lavender hand towel, a little ceramic dish for soap shaped like a seashell, and a framed print of a beach at sunset.
Practical, stitched with tiny threads of whimsy. Just like Lily.
How has this woman locked herself in my head before I even knew I’d left the door open? That laugh—not even kidding—nearly took me out at the knees. And her eyes when they light up? Forget about it.
But she’s not just any woman. Lily is the widow of a fallen firefighter from my station. She’s raising a daughter alone, carrying around enough grief to sink a battleship. And I’m a breathing reminder of the ghost she can’t escape.
I unfold the T-shirt to check the residual damage.
The stain hasn’t budged much and now the fabric is also soaked through.
But I can’t walk around her apartment shirtless—she’d write me off for good—so I pull the damp shirt over my head.
The wet cotton sticks uncomfortably to my chest and back, but I’ll live.
The doorbell rings, and I take one last look in the mirror. Stress-rumpled hair? Check. Shirt soaked enough for a cameo on a trashy spring break TV show? Check. Stupid grin that says “I’m trying too hard”? Double-check. Perfect.
I step into the main room just as Lily heads for the door, her face set in a neutral mask.
“That must be the part.” She keeps her gaze on her toes, her voice a little too controlled.
“I’ll get it,” I offer, stepping forward.
“Okay, I’ll finish here.” She slips past me and darts back into the kitchen, pretending our zero-dishes dinner is a cleanup emergency.
The delivery guy is a bored-looking teenager who hands me the package without making eye contact, already turning away before I can say thanks. I close the door and get to work in the bathroom, laying out the tools I’ll need and unpacking the spare parts.
For the next twenty minutes, I work on installing the new assembly, making sure everything is sealed and tightened.
“How’s it looking under there?” Lily’s voice startles me.
I peek my head out and find her hovering in the doorway.
“Almost done,” I announce, giving the pipes one last check. “Just need to turn the water back on and test it.”
“I’ll let you finish.”
I double-check everything and when I slide out from under the sink and stand, Lily is no longer in the hallway. I wipe my hands on a shop towel from my kit and turn the valve. I run the faucet, checking for leaks.
Perfect. Dry as a bone.
I pack up my tools and go back to the living room.
Lily is curled in a corner of the couch, knees drawn up to her chest, staring at nothing. The TV is off, and she’s a million miles away. Her eyes are dry but haunted, unfocused. The sight of her like this, small and vulnerable, knots something in my gut I can’t untangle.
I make my approach noisy on purpose, clearing my throat so as not to startle her.
“Hey,” I say, stopping a few feet from the couch. “Your sink is like new. Should be good for another thirty years.”
Lily looks up at me, and the swirl of emotions in her eyes is so complex I can’t decode it. Grief, embarrassment, gratitude, exhaustion.
“Thank you.” She uncurls from her position. “I appreciate it.”
I shift on my feet, unsure what to do with myself. “No problem. Happy to help.”
An awkward silence fogs up the room. I should go. She needs space, and I’ve already pushed enough sore buttons for one night.
“Well,” I say, jerking a thumb toward the door, “I’ll get out of your hair now.”
She stands, smoothing down her scrubs. “Sorry if I ruined your Friday night, and thanks again for fixing the sink. I’ll Venmo you for the part.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, waving off her offer. “Consider it a new neighbor gift from me.”
“You’re the new one,” she points out with a small smile. “I should give you welcome gifts.”
“Then you can buy me a coffee sometime,” I suggest, immediately wondering if I’ve pushed too far again.
But Lily doesn’t retreat. “Okay, but please still send me the invoice. I want Mr. Hagerty to reimburse you on principle.”
“Will do.” I wave with the arm that’s not holding the toolbox.
Lily’s gaze drops to my forearm, and she frowns. “Your bandage is dirty.”
I glance down and, yep, she’s right. The white gauze is smudged with grime from crawling under her sink. “It’s fine. I’ll change it when I get home.”
“I’ll clean it.” Her voice takes on that authoritative edge she had in the ER. “It’s the least I can do. Sit, I’ll go get my kit.”
I want to protest that there’s no need, but she’s already moving down the hall. I do as instructed, sinking onto her couch and trying not to imagine how many times she and Daniel sat here together, how many movies they watched, how many conversations they had.
Lily returns a moment later with a medical kit. She sits next to me, as far as she can while still being able to work on my wound, and motions for my arm. I extend it without hesitation.
No gloves this time, but I can smell the antiseptic she’s used to clean her hands. Without the plastic barrier, her touch is electric; it fries my entire right side. Our eyes meet, and… is she feeling it, too?
Probably not.
Hell, I’ve reverted to being an inexperienced teenage boy, heart racing just because a pretty girl is touching me.
It’s ridiculous. I’m a grown man getting flustered over skin contact.
Lily is just patching me up, but it feels more than that.
Like she’s taking care of me. Every cell in my body is tuned in to her.
I can’t decide if I want to laugh at myself or bolt for the door.
And the worst part is that she doesn’t even notice she’s turning me inside out.
She undoes the bandage, making a displeased noise when she sees the wound underneath. “Have you been changing this every day, like I told you?”
Her eyes narrow on me.
I make an apologetic face. “Maybe every other day?”
Her scowl deepens, so I add, “It’s hard to do it one-armed.”
“Couldn’t the paramedics at the station help you?” she asks, gently cleaning around the stitches. “Or one of your squad mates?”
I sigh dramatically. “Ah. Well, I’m the new lieutenant who got injured on the first day like a total rookie. I prefer not to draw attention to that fact.”
Lily’s eye roll is so spectacular her eyes might leave her skull. “I won’t comment on male vulnerability,” she says with exaggerated patience, “but you need to change the dressing every day.” She pauses, then adds, “If you come over, I’ll do it.”
The offer surprises me. “I don’t want to impose.” And I mean it despite how much I’d like to see her again.
“If I get free plumbing,” she replies pragmatically, “you get free nursing. It’s only fair.”
I can’t help but smile at that. “Okay, Nurse Finnigan, deal.”
She nods and continues working, cleaning the wound, applying antibiotic cream with a cotton disc, and wrapping it with a fresh bandage. Her fingertips are so light I can barely feel the contact, but somehow it’s the only thing that exists in my world.
“I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier,” she says suddenly, her voice small, eyes fixed on my arm as she keeps wrapping it.
I keep still, worried that any movement might spook her into silence.
“The smallest things can trigger me,” she continues, smoothing the tape over the gauze. “Even after four years, I haven’t learned to control it. And it gets worse when Penny’s not around. It’s as if all the emotions I have to keep bottled up in front of her want out.”
I search for the right words but don’t have any.
“I don’t know what to say without it sounding like an empty platitude,” I finally admit.
“But you can be yourself around me—no need to keep anything bottled up. If you want to scream, scream. If you need to break things, just ask, and I’ll hand you a bat. ”
She looks at me now, eyes intense. “How are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“My grief is ugly, and it makes everyone around me so damn uncomfortable… all the time… and I’ve learned to hide it, to push it aside and pretend it’s not there even when I’m with people I’ve known for years. And we just met, and you’re sitting there telling me you have no problem with it. How?”
“I can handle messy emotions.” I hold her gaze, letting her see that her past doesn’t scare me. “I prefer ugly that’s real to pretty things packed up with a bow to hide what’s underneath.” I almost put a ring on the last truth I was afraid to face; I’m not making that mistake again.
Lily smiles, but it’s tinged with sadness. “You’re doing it again,” she accuses softly.
“What?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“Being too charming.” She secures the last piece of tape and sits back, her work complete. “It’s time for bed, Lieutenant.”
We both stand, and she walks me to the door, holding it open for me. I hesitate at the threshold, gripping the handle of my toolbox with both hands.
The porch light casts long, uncertain shadows around us.
“Same time tomorrow?” she asks, voice thin as she nods toward my bandage.
I nod. Neither of us moves.
Then she adds quietly, “Bring a dry shirt next time.”
Her gaze flickers to the wet fabric clinging to my chest almost regretfully, giving me a little spark of hope.
I laugh, relieved she’s making jokes again. “Hey, it was dry when I arrived. Your sauce attacked me.”
She smiles—a real one, but it’s still tired around the edges. I want to say something brave, but I step out into the cool darkness with a final wave and turn away. The click of her door closing behind me rings in my ears.
I head down the walkway, my chest pinched in the best and worst way, replaying our weird evening together and wishing that goodnight didn’t have to mean goodbye.