“Unless the company is willing to take an IOU on a Post-it Note?” I let out a laugh. “Yes. It might influence whether I can do it.”
“Then let me worry about it.”
I straightened my spine. “Absolutely not. I’m not having you swoop in and fund solutions to my problems, Blake. How much?”
“It’s not swooping. It’s a gift.” The smile he attempted didn’t reach his eyes. “I never gave you a birthday gift this year.”
“Our birthday gifts are in the $30 range.” I fixed him with my sternest look. “I know this is well more than $30, so how much is it?”
“I canloanyou the money if that’s what it takes.” His voice had gone quiet, gentle, like he was trying to coax a scared animal.
“I don’t borrow money from people. You know that.” Only banks, and that was all tapped out. “Is it $300?”
Blake suddenly developed an intense interest in his computer screen.
“$500?” My voice climbed an octave, approaching dog-whistle territory.
He examined his pen holder like it held the secrets of the universe.
“A thousand?” The word came out as a squeak.
Blake finally met my eyes, grimacing. “Shouldn’t be too much more than that.”
A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped me. “Too much more than that? Do you seriously think I have $1,000 sitting around?”
“You need to get better.” His voice was thick with frustration and something else that made my chest tight. Fear. Blake Morrison was afraid for me.
“Which is why I’ve drained my bank account on medical bills.” I ran a hand through my hair, wishing I hadn’t when I caught his eyes following the movement. “But at least my medical bills are partially covered by insurance. This wouldn’t be covered by insurance, right? Unless you can somehow convince them that my townhouse is actually a very large, very expensive medical device?”
His silence was all the answer I needed.
“I have to think about it.”
“Tessa …”
I held up my palm. “Blake, these are my decisions. I hear you loud and clear. There is a chance that my townhouse has mold that is making me sick. But we’ve both looked at it thoroughly and seen no signs of it, so spending $1,000 to confirm it isn’t something I can afford right now.”
“I can’t let you say no to this.” He paced behind his desk like a caged tiger. “Your environment might be making you sick, Tessa. Would you pay $1,000 to get better?”
“If Iknewthat the thousand dollars would get me better, of course. But this is a low probability?—”
“You don’t know that.”
“Well, you don’t know that spending another thousand dollars is going to get me better!” I shot back. “And if you want to do more medical testing? I need to save that money for that because, again, insurance doesn’t cover everything one hundred percent, Blake. This has drained me dry. I’m one copay away from selling organs on the black market. And before you ask, no, you can’t pay for those either.”
His eyes blazed, like he was trying to go all Superman laser on me. “We have to eliminate as many variables as possible, Tessa.”
“I have! Here.”
My hands dug through my satchel for the little notebook I carried everywhere—my constant companion through this nightmare, filled with more details about my daily life than my high school diary. I pressed it against his chest, trying to ignore how solid he felt beneath my palm.
“Every morsel of food I have eaten. Every product I have put on or near my body. Laundry soap, makeup, everything. And you’ll notice that list got smaller and smaller as time went on. I’ve kept track of everything, trying to figure out what might be making me sick, and I have carved out everything I possibly can. But I cannot carve out having a roof over my head, so unless you have a better option?—”
“Move in with me.”
I jerked my head back, blinking rapidly, certain I’d misheard. But the intensity in his eyes, the way his whole body seemed tolean toward mine like a compass finding north, confirmed it. He actually meant it.
The air between us crackled with something that felt dangerously close to possibility.
