"I don't know why I'm here."

She'd knocked on his door, soft but loud enough for him to hear. He'd been sleeping, as evidenced by his white t-shirt, flannel pants, messy hair and the slight squint of his eyes in the porch light. There was a slight cowlick right on top of his head that her eyes immediately noticed and her fingers itched to smooth down.

"Lucy... what's going on?" His eyes widened as if in realization. "Are you okay? Is it Flynn?"

Always the protector.

"No. I mean, yes, I'm okay. But no, it's not...it's not Flynn."

Her arms immediately crossed, hands balled into fists. What was it? How could she possibly explain it? And to him? She barely knew herself what was going on. She looked down, to the side, at the door frame, at his beautiful bare feet. She squeezed her eyes tight and scoffed at herself.

"I don't know why I'm here."

He scrunched his face up in that adorable way that she absolutely did not find adorable. Or so she told herself on many occasions.

Wyatt closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Lucy, you're not making sense."

"I know. No. You're right." She felt the wall around her heart going back up. After everything they'd been through, after everything he'd been through, how could she ask him this? "I think, maybe I'll just go back home."

His hand was on her arm. She knew too well how strong and soft those hands of his could be.

"Don't go." She glanced from his hand to his eyes. "Just...come in. Talk. Let's talk."

He'd offered a beer. She asked for water. Clear thoughts were the order of the evening...errr middle of the night...and she was determined to stay as clear headed as possible.

They'd long ago dispensed with the pleasantries. Small talk wasn't his cup of tea and she was, quite simply, terrible at it.

Both were also equally adept at not being the first to say anything.

She'd already drank most of her water, even though she was trying her best to ration it. Her left ring finger tapped against the side of the glass, the hefty engagement ring making quite the racket as silver met glass.

He huffed and grabbed her hand, taking her slightly by surprise.

"Stop, please."

"Sorry."

Why should she be nervous? It's Wyatt. She's known him for forever. Or, you know, like six months. But they've traveled through time together over a dozen times and that's kind of like forever when you add it all up.

"Lucy, what's going on?" She kept her head down but he gently cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. "Talk to me."

Just say it. Just say it and get it over with and out in the open. Like a band-aid.

Deep breath.

It's just Wyatt. He'll help. He'll understand. He's protective and caring and trustworthy.

It's just Wyatt.

Deep, deep breath.

"I need a place to stay."

"What?"

It was now or never.

"Mom and I had a fight. She kicked me out. But only after I told her I'm breaking up with Noah. She really likes that guy. I can't see it. Anyway. And I'd ask Rufus, but, Jiya's there, so they don't need a third wheel. So, um, maybe your couch? Or I can find my air mattress. I used to have one. Unless it got erased, too. I'm not sure how that works. Or I'm totally cool to sleep on the floor, too. I've also slept in a bathtub before. Just once. Back in college. Though all the alcohol probably made for a better night's sleep in that position than it would now. You know, sober. Not that I want to get drunk with you. Not with you. Just here. Not here. In your house. I mean anywhere with you. Not that I don't want to drink with you. I like to drink. And I like you. No, not that I like you, I mean, you're a great person and I like you, not that I like you. I do. But..." Deep breath. "Maybe I'll just sleep in my car."

Band-aid off. Wound open. Heart exposed.

Did she say she liked him? He'd probably have something snarky to say about that later.

Lucy stood and grabbed her keys off the coffee table.

"Lucy."

She wanted to take a few steps and leave. Walk out and start over, in so many ways. But she couldn't. Her feet betrayed her, just like the blush that was creeping across her face and neck.

"I'm sorry." It came out quieter than she meant. She wasn't even sure he heard it.

She never wanted to cry in front of him. But the tears betrayed her, too.

She was going to need to have a serious conversation with herself about all of these emotional betrayals.

He stood and wrapped an arm around her. She fell into him gently, easily. He was warm and clean and smelled like dryer sheets and heaven.

She didn't know she was crying that hard until she was fisting his shirt and he was shushing her. He rubbed soft circles on her back. Her breathing slowed and she inhaled deeply.

Her stomach rumbled. He also smelled like spaghetti. (She forgot to eat dinner.)

He lowered his lips to her ear and, even though they were alone, spoke only for her to hear.

"You can stay."

She laughed softly.

"Really? After all that?"

He smirked.

"On one condition." She glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. "Let's get you some food."

She smiled and fell into him a little more.

It'd take her a little longer to realize that he also smelled like home.