Chapter 15
JOSH
I tape shut the last cardboard box—one filled with junk I should’ve thrown away—and contemplate where to stash it in my still-barren apartment.
Even with the unpacking completed, the place retains that hollow echo of rooms waiting to be lived in, walls blank except for a single framed photo of my old squad in Delaware.
I shove the box against the wall with the others I’ve deemed “deal with later” and step back to survey my kingdom of cardboard and IKEA furniture.
This is what peak loneliness looks like.
It’s Monday, the last day on my four-day break in the rotation schedule, and I’ve ticked off every box on my responsible adult checklist: groceries stocked, laundry folded, unpacking finished (sort of), bathroom cleaned to a level that wouldn’t horrify my grandmother.
The apartment smells of lemon-scented cleaning products and the microwaved lasagna I had for lunch.
Not exactly the glamorous California life the brochures promised.
I glance at the sun shining out my windows.
Still got a few hours to kill before I call it a night.
It’s fine. Totally fine. I’m an adult man who can amuse himself.
Tomorrow at eight I’ll be on for a twenty-four-hour shift with no time for existential navel-gazing.
At least at the station I’ll have people around, calls to go on, lives to save.
I’m not quite friends with any of my squad mates yet—it’s only been a week, and I’m the new lieutenant, the outsider—but at least I won’t spend the day talking to my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I walk to the fridge and grab a beer, popping the cap off against the counter edge.
The sharp hiss and the cold glass against my palm are the only real things in this hollow space.
I tell myself the emptiness in my chest is just adjustment pains—new city, new job, new apartment.
It’s definitely not because I spent the entire weekend with Lily.
And today, I felt every hour she wasn’t with me, either scolding me or laughing at my terrible jokes.
Nope. I absolutely haven’t been counting the hours since I last saw her.
I press the cold bottle against my forehead and close my eyes.
Two days. That’s all it took for Lily Finnigan to get under my skin.
One hike, three shared meals, and a tour of the Santa Monica Pier.
Add in an accidental sleepover and a minor emotional breakdown over breakfast, and she’s become the only interesting person in this entire city for me.
But hey, we’re just friends. She made that crystal clear, and I respect it. I mean, she’s got a kid and too many demons that don’t stay quiet around me. Talk about complicated.
I take a long pull from the beer to wash away the feeling. I shouldn’t miss her. It’s ridiculous to miss someone I just met, a woman who’s not mine to miss. Yet, here I am.
The doorbell jars me out of my thoughts.
I set the bottle down and head to the door, metaphorical tail wagging. Could it be Lily and Penny already? When I open up, my internal idiot does cartwheels across my lungs.
They wait on my doorstep like a domestic mirage conjured up by my lonely brain.
Lily is still in her scrubs, messy ponytail, looking tired but beautiful in that unfiltered way that makes my throat tight.
Penny has her hair up in a ballet bun, wearing shorts over pink tights.
She’s holding a red bike with the chain hanging loose.
“Hey,” Lily says, almost shyly. “Is this a good time?”
I want to reply, “It’s about fucking time,” seeing how the drabness that’s been dogging me all day, whoosh, just vanished. But I go with a more understated, “Sure, now’s perfect.”
“Sorry to drop in unannounced,” Lily continues, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “We should have called first.”
“No, it’s fine,” I assure her, stepping back to usher them in. “I was just finishing up some unpacking. Nothing important.”
Penny studies me with that direct, unfiltered gaze typical of kids. “You smell like beer.”
I laugh, caught. “Detective Penny on the case. You’re right. I was taking a break.”
“Ms. Meyers says drinking alone is a sign of alcoholism,” Penny announces, prompting her mom to make a choked sound.
Lily shrugs at me. “Either Ms. Meyers has a lot of opinions, or her sage advice is being filtered through a game of Telephone.”
“No, Mom. It’s what she said.”
“Well, now I’m not alone,” I counter, winking at Penny. “Problem solved, right?”
Penny nods sagely, then points to her bike. “Can we fix this?”
“Let’s have a look. Better to work on the patio.”
I lift the bike, carrying it through the apartment and out to the small wooden patio at the back. The late afternoon sun warms the planks and casts long shadows. I set the bike down and go back inside to grab my toolbox.
When I return, Lily has settled into one of the two patio chairs I bought last week, while Penny is circling the bike.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask Lily. “I have beer, water, or…” I trail off, realizing my beverage options are pathetically limited. “Just beer or water.”
“I’m okay,” Lily says with a small smile. “I’ll laze it out on your patio while you two do the hard work.”
Our eyes lock, and the world blurs at the edges. “I don’t mind the hard work,” I tell her, meaning it in ways that go far beyond bike repair. If only she’d let me, I’d work so hard at making her happy.
Lily’s cheeks color and she looks away, maybe hearing what I’m not saying, or choosing not to.
I clear my throat and turn my attention to the bike.
“Alright, Penny, the first step to fixing anything is having the proper tools.” I open my toolbox, displaying the neat rows of wrenches, screwdrivers, and pliers.
I flip the bike upside down, balancing it on the seat and handlebars. The chain has slipped off the gears and gotten wedged between the frame and the rear sprocket.
I walk her through the basics—how to isolate the master link, where to push on the chain to loosen it, how the derailleur works.
I select a wrench from the toolbox and show her how to unscrew the bolt securing the back wheel.
“Sometimes you have to make a little extra room before you can fix the real problem. Kind of like when your bedroom is too messy to find something and you’ve got to move stuff around. ”
We loosen the bolts together.
The chain comes free, and I show Penny how to set it back on the sprockets. “Want to help me with this part?” I ask, guiding her hands to hold the links in position. “We need to line it up with these teeth here, both in the front and back.”
Her small fingers work alongside mine, placing the chain on the gears and tightening the rear wheel again. “Now, let’s test it.”
I gesture for Penny to spin the pedals. The chain moves smoothly over the gears, each link falling into place. When everything looks good, I give Penny a quick nod. “Nice job.”
“We did it!” Penny exclaims, throwing her arms around me in an unexpected hug. Her small body collides with mine, and I freeze, surprised by the easy affection. I hug her back, careful not to smear her clothes with grease.
Lily is watching us, her expression hard to decipher.
Is it pain? Longing? Gratitude? Shadows obscure her eyes, like clouds drifting across the sun.
Is she thinking about her husband? Wishing he were doing this with his daughter instead of me?
Or is she glad someone’s stepping in? I can’t tell, and I don’t dare ask.
“We got pretty greasy,” I say, gently disengaging from Penny’s hug and showing her my stained hands. “Let’s go wash up.”
Penny inspects her own blackened fingertips with fascination rather than disgust. “Cool,” she says, which makes me like her even more.
We head inside to the half bath, and I’m acutely aware of Lily following behind us. The space is compact, and my generic bachelor bathroom feels inadequate with its single towel and basic soap.
We wash our hands side by side, Penny chattering about the evils of gym class and the absolute injustice of bedtime.
Lily rolls her eyes from where she’s leaning against the doorframe.
Penny fluffs the extra water off her hands and dries them on the towel I offer. “Can I ride the bike around, Mom?”
Lily nods. “Stay within the complex walkways, okay? Don’t go near the parking lot.”
“I won’t,” Penny promises, already dashing toward the door. “Thanks, Josh!”
And just like that, she’s gone, leaving Lily and me alone.
Don’t stare like a smitten idiot; think of something cool and manly to say.
“Since I’m here.” Lily saves me from myself, reaching into her oversized purse for a med kit. “I can check your wound.”
I hold out my arm, like a good, totally non-horny patient.
“How was your day at the hospital?” I ask, pretending my entire focus isn’t on the spot where she’s touching me.
“The usual chaos,” she replies, examining the healing gash on my forearm. “Had a guy come in with garlic cloves stuck in his ears. Said he was curing an ear infection.”
I chuckle. “Creative. Did it work?”
“Shockingly, no.” She smiles. “How about you? Did you laze by the pool all day?”
“No, I’ve been very productive.” I gesture toward the rest of the house. “Finished unpacking and everything.”
“Here’s your gold star,” she says, pressing an imaginary sticker to my chest.
Her palm rests flat against my T-shirt, the contact electric even through the fabric. She lingers, testing the feel of me? Please stay forever, I want to beg. But she must remember who we are and drops her hand, reverting to her nurse mode.
“The wound looks good,” she says, wrapping fresh gauze around my arm. “I can remove the stitches tomorrow night.”
“I have a twenty-four-hour shift tomorrow. Today was my last day off in the rotation.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “Wednesday, then. But please man up and have someone at the station change the wrapping for you tomorrow.”
“Promise.”
We head back outside to the patio, where Penny is pedaling along the complex’s pathways. She looks up and waves before making another loop back to us, her cheeks flushed. “It works perfectly!” she announces. “Even better than before!”
“That’s because we’re an awesome repair team.” I hold up my hand for a high five that she enthusiastically returns.
“Josh,” Penny says, eyes bright, “do you want to have dinner at our house?”
Lily startles beside me. “Penny, I’m not even sure what we have in the fridge.”
“How about I cook for the two of you instead?” I cut in before she can say a hard no. “I went grocery shopping today and have a full fridge.”
Penny turns pleading eyes to her mother. “Can we, Mom? Please? Pretty please?”
I can’t help myself; I mimic Penny’s expression, scrunching my face into what I hope is an adorable, impossible-to-resist puppy dog look. “Yeah, Lily, pretty please?”
It’s just dinner. But as I wait for her answer, my heart pounds as if I’d asked her to marry me.
With them here, this place feels a lot less like a show apartment and more like home.
And I’m not ready to give up that feeling.
Conflict plays across Lily’s face—the automatic retreat warring with the side of her that wants to say yes.
I know what I’m doing isn’t fair. She’s exhausted from her shift, probably had a plan for a quiet evening at home, and I’m ganging up on her with her daughter. I’m pushing, and I know it.
But I’ve seen her light up when she lets herself relax, the way she came alive at the pier, how she laughed during our hike.
I’ve also seen the shadows that chase her, how she pulls back every time we get too comfortable.
She’s spent so long being careful, being alone, that she’s forgotten what it feels like to just… be.
Maybe I’m reading this all wrong and projecting what I want onto what I tell myself she needs. But she showed up at my door tonight instead of texting and settled into my patio chair like she belonged in my home. That wasn’t nothing. That was her choosing to be here, even if she won’t admit it yet.
So yeah, I’m pushing. Gently. Because I can see the part of her that wants to be pushed, wants permission to take up space in someone else’s life again. And if I’m wrong? She’ll tell me no, and I’ll respect it. But I don’t think I’m wrong.