By the time I woke up Monday morning, the world was brighter. The sun was shining. And I felt less like a dating failure.

I threw on skinny jeans, nude heels, and a yellow off-the-shoulder top that was from our fall collection before collecting my sketching things to take to Central Park. Despite the improvement in my mood, I wasn’t ready to face Lindy’s questions about my love life.

Passing Nate’s, I heard a noise. I turned around. The door was just ajar.

What the …

Had someone broken in? I’d heard about crime in New York but hadn’t seen it firsthand.

I did what any good neighbor would do. I unlocked my door and searched the entrance wildly for the most dangerous thing I could find at a moment’s notice: a stiletto from a pair on the mat. Then I tiptoed across the hall and pushed Nate’s door wider slowly, inch by inch. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I raised the shoe in my hand, business-end out.

Movement flashed across my vision. I screamed and tripped, dropping the shoe, then scrambled back across the hall on my hands and knees.

This is it, Cameron. This is how you’re going to die. On the floor of your hallway because you tried to go all Jason Bourne with Lex’s Manolo.

“Ava?”

My “last moments on earth” montage stopped.

“Nate?” The door opened again from the inside. A sweaty but familiar face appeared. “Nate, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Me? What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Protecting you!” I found my feet, knees still weak, and crossed to his door. Stepping gingerly inside, I gestured to the shoe lying harmlessly on the mat.

Nate shook his head in disbelief before hobbling to the couch to sit. He lifted a leg carefully onto the table in front of him and I realized his ankle was the size of an orange.

“What the hell happened?” I demanded.

“Basketball happened,” he said, blowing out an exasperated breath.

“That’s why you left early on Sunday.”

“Well, I didn’t think it’d be this bad. The damn thing blew up overnight. I went to work this morning, but one of the paralegals, Emma, barred the door and sent me to the doctor. I’m supposed to stay off it for three days.” He made it sound like three years. “And now everyone at the office knows because Emma called the doctor to find out what she could do to aid in my recovery.”

Point, Emma.

“So you need to take the time off.” My body was still recovering from the shock. I crossed the living room, sitting gingerly on the corner of the chair across from the couch.

Nate’s agitation was clear. “I need to be at work. I’m falling behind every damn second that I’m here.”

“You. Can’t. Walk.”

He shot me a look. “You don’t need two legs to practice law.”

I ignored him, looking toward the table between us where there were some papers and a bottle of pills. “What’s all this?” He reached for the bottle, but I was faster, lifting it and reading the label for a prescription for some heavy-duty pain medication. “Pretty sure you need to be lucid to practice law. Though I should probably let you do it. Maybe it’d win our case for us.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.” Nate pushed a hand through his hair, finally dropping his arm across the back of the couch. “I asked work to ship me boxes. Emma somehow intercepted the request. It’s like she’s in black ops or something,” he complained.

The visual made me snort. “As much as I’m sure you’re the only capable lawyer in midtown, the world will not cease to function without you for a day or two. I bet the last time you took time off was when Jamie died.”

Nate shifted.

“Nate, are you telling me you didn’t take any time off?” My jaw fell open.

“An afternoon. For the funeral,” he grunted.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I set the pills back on the table. The guy obviously needed a lesson in self-care. He had time to think of others but didn’t give a shit about himself. It would be admirable if it weren’t so destructive. “You’re going to take a damn day off if it kills you. Here’s how it’s going down. You stay here. I’m going to phone someone to come help you.”

“Who exactly did you have in mind? Josh?” He looked at me like I was nuts. “I already got shit for bodychecking him the other day. And I’m not calling my parents.”

I wanted to ask if he had other friends. His answer would probably be no, I realized with a start. He might know a lot of people, but from what I’d seen and heard from Josh, Nate didn’t let many of them in.

I should leave him to look after himself. Nate was independent. And determined.

But …

His ankle really was huge, and his face shone with sweat from the effort of moving himself eight feet across the room.

“Fine. Do what you want. But I’m getting you some food before I go.” I turned and walk to the fridge without waiting for him to respond.

Opening the door revealed an empty carton of orange juice, something growing in a Tupperware container, and—

I recoiled in horror.

“What the hell, Suit! You keep Cheerios in the fridge?”

“They last longer.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. They’re dried bread. They need to … to …”

“To what?” he taunted from the other side of the counter.

“I don’t know, breathe!”

Low chuckling came from the other room. It was the first I’d heard him laugh since our locked-out non-date last week. Even though it was at my expense, the sound was comforting.

“If they last longer in the fridge, it’s only because you forget where you put them,” I muttered.

“Mhmm. Why do you care? Are you making me breakfast?”

I shut the door and threw a handful of Cheerios at him. They didn’t go far, but he ducked anyway.

Seeing the apartment in the daylight and with me paying more attention, I noticed the food situation wasn’t the only problem. Everything was sleek and modern, but impersonal, like it’d been decorated by a monk.

“You need a plant, Nate,” I said as I returned to the living room. “And some accent pillows.”

“Do I look like a guy who buys accent pillows?”

Guys never understood the value of decor. “Trust me. Even if they don’t immediately add to your quality of life, accent pillows will get you laid.”

“What makes you think I need to get laid?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Because I’ve never heard you—never mind.” Nate wasn’t a guy friend. Just because part of him was temporarily impaired and he couldn’t literally tackle me, that didn’t make him safe. I changed the subject, pointing to the sheet of paper on the table. “What are you supposed to do with that thing?”

He picked it up and scanned the text. “Ice twenty minutes every hour.” He eyed me. We both knew there was no way Nate would get across the room that often.

“Let me get you started before I go.” I went back to the kitchen and fished around in the freezer for an ice pack. I settled for a bag of peas and wrapped it in a towel for him.

“Thanks,” he said when I brought it over.

A few minutes turned into an hour, then the hour turned into an afternoon. We iced and rested as prescribed. We played poker, which he promptly whipped me at. When I said something about the ridiculous transit system, Nate pulled out his iPad and talked me through the subway routes, asking where I went most and explaining how to get everywhere. He was surprisingly patient.

Somehow I ended up spending the rest of the day there. I was still uncomfortable with the idea of us hanging out, but this didn’t count as hanging out. It was more like … I was the first responder to the scene of an accident.

By seven we were hungry. “Won’t Josh be missing you?” Nate asked, not meeting my gaze as he leafed through a takeout menu.

My head jerked up. Nate didn’t know I’d ended things. Josh hadn’t called him.

Dammit.

That was why this felt so normal.

Telling him now would destroy the easy vibe that’d sprung up between us. I went through a mental battle. Lying gave me hives, but I wanted to preserve this a few moments longer.

“We don’t have plans tonight,” I said. I’ll tell him. Just not yet.

Twenty minutes later I was tipping the delivery guy. Unpacking our food, I brought both of ours out to the living room. I figured eating at the table was out. Nate sat on the couch and I took the floor in front of him, using his coffee table as a tray. Given my height, it was the perfect size.

“When you said you’d feed me, I didn’t know you meant takeout.”

I shot him an icy look over my shoulder. “I can cook, Suit. I just choose not to. Now be quiet, my favorite show is on.” I turned the channel and sighed with contentment. We were just in time for the recap.

Nate slid down beside me, gingerly given his ankle. He was just inches away, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. “I need the table,” was his excuse.

I didn’t say anything but ignored the fact that our legs were tucked underneath the same table, which forced us closer. He didn’t seem to notice.

“So there are four girls fighting for one guy?” Nate asked a few minutes later. For an Ivy League grad, he was having a hard time with the concept.

“Yeah. At the start there were twenty girls.”

“Twenty girls trying to get that dude? What is he, a prince? Heir to a paper products fortune?” I thought his eyes would fall out of his head.

“There’s more to life than net worth, Nate,” I said primly.

“Like what. Accent pillows?”

I shot him an arch look, pointing at his leg. “Watch it, Suit, or you might lose the other one too.”

He smirked but followed my lead, turning back to the TV, where the bachelor and one of the girls had arrived at an oasis with a hot tub.

“What are they doing now?” Nate asked.

“They’re going on a date. Shhh.”

“But he was just making out with the other one,” Nate replied, confused.

“Right. And when I said ‘Shhh,’ I totally meant ‘Keep talking, but quieter.’”

Nate frowned and ignored me. “That’s bullshit. Wait, what’s in the envelope?”

“That’s it.” I rounded on him. “You are the worst TV buddy ever.”

His eyes widened innocently. “What’d I do?”

I stayed silent, shaking my head. This mischievous side of Nate was a new one for me. But he was surprisingly charming.

On TV, the two characters were undertaking some serious PDA. I sighed. These scenes always got to me. I know some people don’t believe you can find romance on reality TV, but it was nice to think so.

A snort interrupted my blissful haze. “They’re just going to have sex? He was just with that other girl five minutes ago. That’s dirty. And also how you end up paying a lifetime in child support.”

“Thanks for the free legal advice. But you can’t talk—you pick up girls in bars all the time.”

“Used to,” he corrected. “And I didn’t do it on TV. Or with multiple girls on the same night.”

“Fine. There is an entire moral desert between you and this guy. Now do you want me to turn it off?”

Nate didn’t respond at first. Then finally, “It’s like a train wreck. I can’t look away.”

I patted his knee. “It’s OK, Suit. I’m sure they use condoms.”

* * *

I crossed the hall around eleven the next morning toting a bag from West Elm.

“Hey, slacker,” I called as I let myself in with the key he’d given me temporarily. Looking after Nate was a great distraction from the things I should’ve been doing. Like finishing the spring line.

Nate glanced up from where he was lying on the couch, appearing increasingly comfortable with his forced downtime. He was still waiting on a shave but had managed to shower. Or I figured he had, judging by the clean clothes. But what stopped me in my tracks were the reading glasses on his face and the Wall Street Journal open in front of him.

Oh.

Fuck.

Me.

I’d never thought of myself as a glasses kind of girl, but Nate looked hot. Like some athlete-banker-superhero. The whole Superman/Clark Kent thing wasn’t that far off …

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What?”

“Nothing,” I tried to sound cheerful. It came out strangled.

He waited me out.

“You just look …” I trailed off. Felt my face go blotchy.

“Unemployed?” he quipped. “I might be if I take any more days off.”

“No!”

“Then what?” he taunted. “Come on, out with it.”

Uh-oh. I could feel it coming. Word bomb …

“Fine! You look sexy as hell and I might’ve been on the verge of orgasm just looking at you, OK?”

His teasing smile fell away.

“Forget it.” I was suddenly uncomfortable, breaking his intense gaze to glance down at my bags. The seconds ticked away.

“What is all that?” Nate asked neutrally.

“Oh! It’s an intervention.” I started pulling things out of the bags, relieved for the prompt.

I’d wandered home the night before and explained to Lex where I’d been. She hadn’t been thrilled, but I’d insisted it was legit. We weren’t talking about the case. And it wasn’t as if I was doing it to spend time with him.

Because of the sparse apartment issue, this morning I’d run to the store and bought cobalt pillows to go with his slate gray couch. A coffee grinder because he didn’t have one.

“If Better Homes and Gardens is coming, my mother will be thrilled.” Nate pulled his glasses off and set them on the table beside him. I made a mental note to hide them so he couldn’t use them against me.

“Everyone needs color. And fresh coffee.” Then I pulled the last thing out of the bag.

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s for me,” I said defensively, admiring the framed art print of a gorgeous cat mid-stretch.

“Good,” he snorted.

I glared at him before crossing to the kitchen to make coffee. “You don’t like cats, Suit?”

“Not especially. That a deal-breaker?” he drawled.

“Yes. That is the one thing standing between us and our epic romance,” I tossed back.

I finished making the coffee, leaving it black the way he liked it, then carried it into the living room.

“Thanks,” Nate said when I set the mug on the table. Looking up, I realized he was looking at me with those blue eyes like I was the only thing he wanted to see right now. It made my stomach do funny things.

“You’re not having any?” he asked.

“No. Actually, I’m not staying. I need to do some sewing and run some errands for Travesty. I’ll check on you later though.”

“Sure.” His gaze was unreadable.

Nate was asleep when I came by after lunch. I drew for a while and did some fabric pricing on my phone, but I couldn’t focus. So instead I took the opportunity to creep his apartment in a way I couldn’t while he was awake.

Nate had one of those book collections that said “take me seriously.” My bookshelf contained dog-eared back issues of fashion magazines, a postcard collection, and a signed five-by-seven of Ryan Reynolds I’d won in high school after calling into a radio contest fifty times in a row.

Nate’s held volumes on law, a Guinness Book of World Records, some Shakespeare, lots of wilderness books, and a biography of some Nobel Peace Prize winner.

The kicker was they weren’t for show. I pulled a book off the shelf and noticed its pages were dog-eared. Same with the next one. They were all read. Well-read.

A stack of slim books on the top shelf looked out of place. I had to stretch to reach them but tugged one out. I grinned at the Superman comic, feeling triumphant. I’d have to bug him about that later.

In the end I chose the biography.

Just when the book was getting good, a light knock sounded at the door.

The last person I expected was standing in the hall when I answered it. Nate’s hot blond not-girlfriend looked back at me, surprise etched on her classic features.

“Hi. I’m looking for Nate?” she asked, confused.

Stepping into the hall, I pulled the door after me so we didn’t wake Nate. “He’s sleeping. I’m Ava, his—” Former one-night stand? Defendant? “—neighbor. From across the hall.”

Her face relaxed a few degrees. “You look familiar, but I can’t quite place you.” I didn’t mention we’d seen each other at the gala. “I need to talk with Nate. It’s urgent. I tried his work and they said he was home.”

“What about his dad?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

I let her in. She hung her sweater on a hook in a way that said she was comfortable in his apartment before going to the couch.

“Hey, Nate.” Her voice was smooth as honey as she knelt next to him. She touched his shoulder. Way to cop a feel.

Which is exactly what I did the other day, I reminded myself guiltily.

“Ava?” His voice was sleepy.

“It’s Abby.”

His eyes opened, focus. He pushed up to sitting. “What are you doing here?”

She looked worried. “Nate, it’s your dad. Your mom’s been trying to reach you all morning.”

“What?” Suddenly he was awake.

“You weren’t answering your phone so she asked me to find you. Your office said you were home.” She took his hand. “Nate, he had a heart attack on his way home from London.”

Nate’s face went white. “What? Is he—?”

“He should be home soon. They were running tests this morning. They think he’s going to be all right.”

“I need to see him.”

My gut tightened at his reaction. It was almost like seven months ago, the panic. His whole body was tense. I was torn between giving them space and staying right where I was.

I was also still grappling with the news that Nate’s mother was on “calling” terms with Abby.

“Of course you need to see him. I can drive you,” Abby was saying.

“No,” he replied quickly. “Ava will.” He looked over Abby’s shoulder at me, trying to communicate without words.

“But—”

“I mean, thank you. Abby. I appreciate it. But you don’t need to.”

Abby glanced toward me, assessing. “All right,” she said finally. “I’ll see you soon. Let me know if you need anything. I know this is hard on you with … everything.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek before leaving.

When the door closed, Nate fell back against the pillows, eyes on the ceiling. “Will you? Take me to my parents?” He took a rough breath. “You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“You’d better have a car.”