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My hands shake as I close the email and push my chair back. I stand and pace my tiny apartment, trying to breathe, trying not to cry, trying to figure out what to do.

I feel like the floor has dropped out from under me.

Rent. Groceries. Bills. What am I going to do now?

My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter. I see Luca’s name on the screen, but I can’t bring myself to pick it up.

It’s too soon. I need a plan. I need to fix this.

I open my laptop again, my hands moving on autopilot as I type up a new resume. It’s old. Outdated. Doesn’t reflect my current skill set. I work on it until my vision blurs, until tears fall silently onto the keyboard.

It takes everything I have to pull myself together.

Eventually, I search for jobs in Wolf Valley. There aren’t many. A handful of part-time positions. A few listings at the local schools. Some retail jobs.

My fingers hover over the mouse as I debate if I should apply for work at the art store. I’ve been helping Luca with the setup, and I love the space. I love the idea of helping kids to create, of making something with my hands instead of typing instructions all day.

But I’d barely make minimum wage. It won’t be enough.

Still, I save the listing.

I’m debating whether to send my resume to the community center for their afterschool program when I hear a knock at the door.

I freeze.

Another knock, followed by Luca’s deep voice.

“Blake? It’s me. Got dinner.”

I wipe my eyes on my sleeve and inhale a shaky breath before opening the door.

Luca stands there with a brown paper bag in his arms and a worried crease pinching his brow.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping inside as I move aside. “You okay?”

I try to smile. It falters.

And just like that, I fall apart in front of him.

EIGHT

Luca

The second I see Blake’s face, I know something’s wrong.

She opens the door slowly, her green eyes rimmed with red. And that easy smile she always gives me? Nowhere in sight. She’s wearing one of her oversized sweatshirts, sleeves pulled down over her hands, and it hits me how small she looks tonight. Not physically—Blake’s never been small, not with all that fire and sass—but like something has knocked the wind out of her.

“Hey,” I say softly, holding up the brown paper bag of takeout like it might cheer her up. “I brought dinner. That tofu bao place finally called me back.”

She steps aside silently, and I walk in, closing the door behind me. The second it clicks shut, she turns and practically folds into my chest. No warning. No words.

Just grief.

I drop the bag on the table and wrap my arms around her.

She doesn’t sob, not at first. It’s more like she’s trying not to break. Her body shakes, and her breath hitches as she presses her face into my hoodie. My hand moves instinctively to the back of her head, cradling her gently.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”