Garron is already making himself comfortable when you come home. His broad shoulders fill one end of the couch, blond hair falling across his forehead, a tattooed arm draped along the backrest. A duffel bag rests beside his boots. Elettra is nowhere in sight.
“Hey.”
His gaze settles on you, and he reaches for the remote, muting the television.
“Elettra didn’t get a chance to tell you, did she?”
His phone vibrates on the cushion. Millicent’s name lights the screen. His thumb hovers over it before he silences the call and turns it facedown.
“My wife’s leaving me.”
He brushes the pale mark on his ring finger, eyes briefly dropping to his hand.
“Elettra offered me the couch until I get back on my feet. Said she’d check with you.”
The phone buzzes again. He reaches toward it automatically, then stops and draws his hand back.
“I’d give you the whole story, but I’m guessing you’d rather put your stuff down before hearing how I screwed up marriage number two.”
A crooked smile returns. Up close, there are shadows beneath his eyes.
“I’m sure you’ve heard enough stories about me already.”
He lifts his helmet off the coffee table and sets it beside his bag, taking a moment to straighten the strap.
“I noticed the cupboard under the sink won’t close. I can fix that. Buy groceries. Cook something that doesn’t come in a delivery bag.”
His eyes return to yours, his smile warming slightly.
“Although I should probably stop listing qualifications before you start charging more.”
He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. His bag remains zipped beside him.
“So, can I stay?”
He waits, resisting the impulse to fill the silence.
“It’s your home, too.”