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"Maggie."

"What?" She spreads her hands. "I'm recovering from a traumatic experience. I feel entitled to make observations."

I let out a laugh despite myself.

Her smile softens a little as she studies me. "Seriously, though. What's going on with you?"

My gaze drifts to the ceiling.

The answer should be simple.

Instead it feels tangled up in six weeks of sleepless nights, missed plans, unexpected friendships, and feelings I never intended to have.

A month ago I was worried about project deadlines and quarterly reports. My life fit neatly into spreadsheets and calendars. Everything had a place. If I planned well enough, worked hard enough, prepared for every possibility, things stayed manageable.

Then Maggie disappeared, Lucy landed in my care, and three men walked into my life and refused to stay at a comfortable distance.

I rub a hand over my face. "I don't know."

Maggie shifts beside me. "That's a load of crap."

I glance at her.

She shrugs. "You always know exactly what's going on inside your head. You just don't always tell people."

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because she's right. I know exactly what's happening, I just don't know what to do with it.

Her expression changes as she watches me work through it. "Oh."

I hate that oh. "What?"

"You're scared."

I stare down at my hands.

The fear has very little to do with Ashby, Briggs, or Torin. It's what they make me want.

I've spent years building a life where nobody could disappoint me because nobody got close enough. Work came first. Independence came first. Control came first.

"I care about them," I admit.

Maggie doesn't look surprised. She looks relieved. "Good."

I blink at her. "Good?"

"Yeah. Good." She nudges my knee with hers. "I'd be concerned if you didn't."

"I wasn't planning on this."

She laughs. "Laurel, you plan grocery lists. But you know what I think?"

"That question rarely ends well for me."

She smiles. "I think you've spent so much time taking care of yourself that you've forgotten other people can take care of you too."

"I'm handling things."

She gives me a look. The same look she used when we were teenagers and she'd caught me lying about sneaking out. "Laurel Sterling, that is the face of a woman falling in love."