"Robin." Ash stops walking. Turns. "I literally do not care about you paying rent."
"But we agreed—"
"That was something you needed to feel like you weren't taking advantage. But you're my brother. This is our house. I didn't buy a four-bedroom house in this town for my health."
"Your emotional baggage needs its own room?"
"Funny." Ash crosses his arms. "I bought it knowing you'd end up here, even if just to visit sometimes. Let me take care of my little brother."
"I'm twenty-eight."
"Still little. Still my brother." Ash's voice goes quiet. "You're hurt. Let people take care of you for once."
Robin's quiet for a moment. "This is becoming a theme. People taking care of me."
"Good," Ash says. "The old theme was garbage."
After Ash heads upstairs with Jason, Robin turns to me. His face is doing the complicated thing — the war between independence and need, between the person he's been and the person he's trying to become.
"I don't want today to end," he says.
"Who says it has to?"
"You don't have to stay again."
"I have clothes in my bag."
He stares. "You brought clothes?"
"I brought clothes. And a toothbrush. And a crossword book." I hold his gaze. "I knew I'd be here, Robin. I wanted to be here."
"Presumptuous."
"Hopeful."
He's quiet for a moment. Then: "Go get your bag."
"Now?"
"Now. Put your clothes in my dresser." He pulls back to look at me. Something has shifted in his face — the war is over. One side won. "I've spent my whole life being careful about who I let in. I'm done being careful with you."
I kiss him. Slow, thorough. A promise.
Then I go get my bag.
Chapter 21
Robin
"This is impossible."
I'm staring at Ash's kitchen counter, covered in flour, bandaged hand throbbing, good hand cramping from trying to laminate croissant dough one-handed. The butter keeps warming up and merging with the dough instead of staying in distinct layers. My folds are uneven. The whole thing looks like a crime scene committed against French baking tradition.
The front door opens and closes. Toby walks in carrying what looks like half the business section of the library, drops the stack on the only clean surface, and stands there with his arms crossed and the expression he gets when he's about to rearrange my life.
"What's all this?"
"This," Toby says, "is me calling your bluff."