Chapter 15
TALON
The last thing I expected tonight was Livvi showing up on my doorstep.
Holding a fish.
Not a cute stuffed animal or even a bag of Goldfish crackers. No—an actual fish.
For a second, I just blinked at her, brain scrambling to catch up. Because of all the scenarios I’d pictured involving Livvi showing up at my door, none of them involved raw seafood.
But then my gaze slid up from the fish offering to her face—and I forgot how to breathe. Her hair was wind-tossed, her cheeks pink, and dang if she didn’t look like every temptation I’d been trying to ignore. The kind that had my pulse picking up before she even said a word.
And that was the problem. With Livvi, it was always instant. Physical. A craving in my chest and gut that never seemed to let up.
But with ReadToLiv … it was different. Deeper. Safer. Real in a way I’d never had before.
So why did the sight of Livvi on my doorstep feel like the most dangerous thing in the world?
“Uh,” I finally managed, still staring like an idiot. “Are you … bringing me dinner?”
Her mouth quirked, like she’d been waiting for me to take the bait. “Funny.”
I leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, doing my best to smother a grin. “Usually I prefer my seafood dead and not … looking at me.”
She rolled her eyes, shifting the box in her hands like she realized how absurd it was. “Okay, so this isn’t exactly a normal housewarming gift.”
“No kidding. Most people go with a plant.” I arched a brow.
Her laugh slipped out—light, warm, and completely unfair to my self-control.
“Yeah, well, I figured you’d kill a plant in a week.” She lifted the fish slightly. “This girl? At least she comes pre-dead.”
I huffed out a laugh, finally stepping back and gesturing inside. “You’re really selling me on it. Come on, bring your … friend in before the neighbors start asking questions.”
She brushed past me, the scent of her shampoo hitting my senses like some kind of ambush. I tried not to notice. And then tried harder not to notice how good she looked in those jeans.
She turned to me, still holding the box in her hands. “I know it’s a little odd for me to be showing up at your place with a fish, but hear me out.”
“Uh-oh, nothing good ever comes after ‘hear me out,’” I teased.
“Fine, maybe not. But this isn’t crazy, I promise.”
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. “I’m all ears, Livvi.”
She took a deep breath, clearly summoning her courage. “Do you remember lunch at the Orange Blossoms Café? When I told you Dory gives great advice?”
I blinked. “You mean … ‘Just keep swimming’? Yeah, I remember.”
“Right.” A soft smile tugged at her lips. “And then … you sent me that picture of your tank the other night. Empty. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how sad it looked. How … well, how you looked at the café too.”
I frowned slightly, caught off guard. “How I looked?”
She met my gaze, eyes earnest. “Yeah. Like maybe you needed a little reminder. So I got you this.” She held up the box, and the blue tang darted a little in the water, scales catching the light.
“Your very own Dory. To tell you to just keep swimming. No matter what that means—training, Olympics, anything you’re working toward. ”
I stared at her for a beat, then back at the fish, and then back at her. Part of me wanted to laugh. The other part? Completely floored.
Because who does this? Who notices the offhand detail of an empty fish tank in a picture I sent? Who takes the time to connect that to something she once said, then turns around and shows up at my door carrying a fish?
And maybe that was the thing that hit hardest—she noticed.
She remembered. She cared enough to act on it.
Not because she had to, not because there was anything in it for her, but because she thought I needed it.
And heaven help me, she was right. The emptiness she saw in that tank?
That was me, more than I could bring myself to confess.
Empty. Tired. Running on fumes, trying to convince myself I could keep grinding without breaking.
And here she was, holding proof that she saw past the facade.
“You realize,” I said, voice rougher than I expected, “that this might be the weirdest … most thoughtful … thing anyone’s ever done for me?”
“Why not both?” she countered, though there was a small hopeful lift in her eyes.
And that was the problem. Letting it mean something.
Letting her mean something. Because if I let myself sink into the warmth behind this gesture, if I admitted how much it struck me right where I’d been hollow for too long, then there was no going back.
It wasn’t just a fish—it was proof she saw me, maybe more clearly than I wanted to be seen.
And that was a risk I wasn’t sure I could afford.
Because I had goals. Dreams that demanded everything I had.
No slipups, no distractions. I couldn’t let myself get pulled off course—not by her laugh, not by the way she noticed things no one else did, not even by the warmth inside me that said maybe she was exactly what I’d been missing.
Relationships were the kind of thing that slowed you down, made you vulnerable.
And I didn’t have room for vulnerable. Not now.
I pushed off the counter, shaking off my thoughts as I walked over to take the box from her hands, careful not to brush against her accidentally—or on purpose.
“All right, little Dory,” I said, setting the box down on the counter.
“Let’s get you settled in your new home before I start thinking this is some elaborate test.”
She laughed, that warm, teasing sound that always made me feel unraveled, every piece of me too aware of her. “It’s not a test. Unless you consider learning to love your own little fish a challenge.”
I glanced at her, grin tugging at my lips. “Challenge accepted.”
I crouched down, adjusting the box’s placement on the counter. “So … what exactly does a blue tang need? I’m assuming not just a tank filled with water and my winning personality.”
She set her hands on her hips, giving me that look—the one that said she was trying hard not to roll her eyes. “Actually, Mr. Winning Personality, they need saltwater. Good filtration. Hiding spots. A stable environment.”
I arched a brow. “Sounds like you did your homework.”
“Of course I did.” Her voice softened as she leaned closer, watching the fish dart around. “She deserves a chance to thrive.”
Something about the way she said it made my throat tighten. Not just about the fish, I realized. About me too.
“Guess I’ll need your help making sure I don’t screw this up.” I reached for the packet of marine-salt mix and the notes she’d brought along. “You know … to give Dory the five-star treatment.”
She grinned, stepping in beside me. “Don’t worry. I’ll supervise.”
We fell into an easy rhythm setting up my tank—me pouring, her measuring, both of us leaning shoulder to shoulder over the tank as the water began to clear. Every so often our hands brushed when we reached for the same thing, little jolts of awareness sparking each time.
By the time we’d adjusted the filter, tucked in the heater, and stacked the small rock formation she’d brought for decoration, the tank was beginning to look like a real home. Empty for now—she’d insisted it needed time to settle before “Dory” could move in—but full of promise.
“There,” she said softly, almost proud.
I should’ve thanked her again, walked her to the door, let her leave before I got in deeper. Instead, the words that came out were, “You want something to drink?”
She glanced up, surprised. “A drink?”
“Yeah.” I shoved my hands into my pockets, pretending it was no big deal when really it felt like the biggest. “Coffee, tea, water … I think I’ve got a soda or two in the fridge. Consider it a housewarming thank-you. Or, you know, an excuse to hang out for a little while longer.”
Her smile spread slowly, lighting up her whole face. “I could stay for a drink.”
And just like that, the space between us shifted.
She wasn’t just the woman who teased me at the café or the person who feigned annoyance at the library or made me laugh when I least expected it.
Not anymore. After a gift like this, she was something more.
Something I was positive I wasn’t ready for but couldn’t bring myself to let go of either.
I grabbed a couple of sodas from the fridge and handed one to her. “Coke okay?”
She opened the can with ease. “Coke is fine. Though, full disclosure, I’m not sure this pairs well with fish.”
I smirked, leaning back against the counter. “What, you’re saying I’m not supposed to make a toast to my new roommate?”
She lifted her can toward the box. “Fine. To Dory.”
“To Dory,” I echoed, tapping my can against hers. “May she survive despite having me as her caretaker.”
Her laugh bubbled out, light and contagious. “Honestly, I give it two weeks.”
“Wow, way to have faith in me.”
“Hey, I bought her insurance policy,” she teased, nodding toward the fish.
We both laughed, the sound bouncing easy between us, until it settled into something quieter, more comfortable. She took a sip of her drink, staring down at the can in her hands. Her smile dimmed at the edges, thoughtful.
“You know …” she said slowly, “sometimes I wonder if I’d be any better at this whole ‘taking care of things’ thing than you are.”
I frowned, catching the shift in her tone. “What do you mean?”
Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “I’ve done everything my parents wanted.
Double major, full-time job, always pushing.
But instead of feeling proud, I just feel …
” She hesitated, searching for the word.
“Exhausted. Like none of it is even mine. Like I’m chasing their definition of success and”—she let out a shaky laugh—“and it doesn’t feel like success at all. ”
Something in her expression twisted my gut. I’d been so caught up in my own grind, my own battles, I hadn’t stopped to think that maybe she was fighting too.
She went on, softer now. “I grew up watching my parents fight constantly. They blamed their unhappiness on not having enough. Not enough education, not enough money, not enough status. So I thought … if I could just get all those things, maybe I’d be different.
Maybe I’d be happy.” She glanced at me, her eyes tired but honest. “But I’m not. Not really.”
For a long moment, I couldn’t say anything. I just looked at her—this woman who seemed to have it all together, who had somehow seen through me enough to know I needed a fish in a tank—and realized she was carrying just as much weight as I was.
“You’re not your parents, Livvi,” I said finally, voice low. “And you don’t have to live by their definition of what makes a life worth something. You get to choose yours.”
Her eyes softened, the faintest trace of relief flickering there. Like maybe she wanted to believe me.
I knew how easy it was to say—and how much harder it was to do.
My dad had his own blueprint for my life—give up swimming, settle down, start a career that looked good on paper.
Every call from him was a reminder of how far I was straying from what he thought mattered.
So yeah, I got it. How suffocating it felt when someone else tried to script your future.
I swallowed a sip of Coke, my words sticking in my throat before I forced them out. “Truth is, I’m not all that different.”
She slanted her head, watching me closely.
“I’ve spent my whole life with blinders on.
Everything’s about swimming, training, proving myself.
Like if I just work harder, push longer, maybe I’ll finally make it.
And for a while, that focus … it’s all that’s kept me moving.
” I huffed out a humorless laugh, rubbing the back of my neck.
“But it’s lonely sometimes. Empty. I’m guessing that’s what you saw in that picture, wasn’t it? ”
She didn’t look away. “Yeah. I guess I did.”
“And that’s why this”—I gestured toward the fish—“hit me harder than it should’ve. Because it means you see me. Even the parts I try to keep hidden.”
Silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, charged, like something shifting between us.
Livvi set her soda down and leaned her elbows on the counter, closer than before. “Maybe that’s what we both need. Someone to see us. Not the accolades or the goals or the trophies. Just … us.”
Her words landed like a punch I hadn’t seen coming. Because wasn’t that what I wanted? What I was afraid to want?
I should’ve pulled back, cracked another joke, anything to break the intensity building between us. But I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
“Careful, Liv,” I said quietly, my pulse hammering. “Keep talking like that and I might actually start believing I’m allowed to want more than the grind.”
Her lips curved, soft but sure. “Maybe you are.”
I let out a slow breath, dragging my gaze to the tank if only to steady myself. “So … do we stick with Dory? Or do we give her a new name?”
Livvi bent her head to the side, considering. “Hmm. I don’t know. Dory fits, but …” Her eyes flicked to mine, a spark of playfulness breaking through the heaviness. “Maybe she deserves something that’s just ours.”
The word ours lodged in my mind, unexpected and hazardous in all the ways I didn’t want to think about.
“Okay.” I forced a grin to cover the way that word had impacted me. “But I reserve the right to veto anything too cutesy.”
Her lips twitched. “Like … Bubbles?”
I groaned. “Veto. Hard veto.”
“Okay, fine. What about Splash?”
“Liv, that sounds like a bad rollercoaster at a county fair.”
She laughed, eyes crinkling in a way that made my chest ache. “All right, Mr. Picky. What would you name her?”
I pretended to think, stroking my chin. “Kraken.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Kraken?”
“Hey, it’s intimidating.”
“It’s a blue tang, Talon. She’s about as intimidating as a marshmallow.”
I chuckled, leaning against the counter, looking down at the fish. “Which makes the name ironic. Works on multiple levels.”
She shook her head, but her smile didn’t fade. “I don’t know. I think we should keep brainstorming. She deserves the perfect name.”
The word we settled deep inside me again, warming a part of me I hadn’t even realized was cold. Somehow, in a single evening, she’d gone from acquaintance to something I didn’t even have a name for. Friends seemed too casual, but anything more than that felt almost reckless.
And yet, standing there with her beside me, watching the fish—our fish—swim, I felt a little less empty than I had in a long time.