Page 83 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
“Sounded suspiciously like laughing.”
She rolls her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders loosens a little. She leans her head back against the wall, sniffing. “You’re weird.”
“Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”
Maeve shifts, hugging her knees tighter, but I can see the storm inside her calming just a fraction. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “So you just…admit that? That you cry?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because guys aren’t supposed to.”
“Who says?”
“Everyone,” she mutters.
“Well, everyone’s wrong.” I shrug, stretching my legs out. “Crying’s just the body’s way of taking the trash out. Get too full, it overflows and mucks up your insides. Better out than in.”
She snickers, covering her mouth. “That’s so gross.”
“Gross, but true.” I grin. “Trust me, bottling stuff up never makes it better. I’ve tried. Didn’t work. Ended up crying harder at a car insurance commercial later.”
She finally lets out a real laugh, the sound bright and surprised. “No way.”
“Way.” I hold up a hand like I’m swearing an oath. “The guy saved fifteen percent and his wife hugged him. I lost it.”
Maeve shakes her head, giggling despite herself. “That’s pathetic.”
“Completely. Pathetic, weird, crybaby. That’s me.”
That makes her laugh again, short and bright. She covers it quickly with a cough, but I see it. Good. I file it away like proofthat maybe this conversation isn’t just patching holes—it’s giving her a place to breathe.
“You know,” I say, tapping the wall behind me, “most people don’t admit that kind of thing. They want to look tough all the time. Like feelings make them weak.”
“Don’t they?” she challenges, brows raised.
“Nope. Feelings make you human. Weakness is pretending you don’t have them.”
She chews on that for a minute, her mouth twisting like she wants to argue but can’t find the words. Then she sighs and mutters, “That sounds like something my therapist would say.”
“Well, your therapist sounds like a wise person,” I reply. “Except I’m cheaper. And taller.”
She snorts. “Barely.”
I grin at her, then soften my tone. “Okay. So if I’ve confessed to being a secret crier, maybe you can tell me what’s really going on with you. Trade secret for secret.”
Maeve frowns. “That’s not fair.”
“Life rarely is. But I’m offering a good deal.” I lean closer, dropping my voice like I’m letting her in on something big. “Your turn.”
She shifts, pulling her knees tighter to her chest. “It’s nothing. Really.”
“It’s never nothing when you’re crying in a hallway.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Maeve peeks at me through her hair. “Like what?”
