"Good morning, sunshine," Nick smiled from the floor.

"You are a morning person," I noted, unable to mask my groggy, grumpy tone.

"I am an all-day person," he corrected.

"Ugh, and after sleeping on the floor no less," I added.

"What not to like about morning? The sun is shining, coffee is near, life is good."

"Says the man who isn't running from his own face," I lamented.

"I'm sorry." Nick's voice came in a lower, mournful tone.

His apology sunk into me, pulling guilt forward. "No, you have been wonderful. I am just not a morning person."

Nick stretched in his make-shift bed as though the interaction didn't affect him at all.

"Who were you speaking to last night?" I asked.

"What?" Nick's body went rigid at my question.

"I'm sorry. I overheard you last night after I thought I had seen someone in my room. I know I am a pain..."

"I was speaking to my father, and I called the situation problematic, not you. I apologize if you misunderstood. He wants to help. Actually, he would like us to join him for breakfast."

"Really?" I continued to be shocked by their willingness to help me.

"Really," Nick reassured. "You get ready, and I will get out of your way," he nodded before pulling himself up from the floor. "Coffee will be ready when you are," he added, before shutting the door behind him.

As I got ready, I couldn't help but marvel at how lucky I had been to meet Nick. Without him and his father, I would be lost. They welcomed me into their homes and offered their support in setting my situation right with next to no questions. I could never repay their kindness.

"Hello, sunshine," Nick echoed his morning greeting.

"Good morning," I smiled back.

"See, that's not so hard, is it?" He teased as he slid a cup of coffee across to me.

I took a sip, realizing that he had prepared it just as I liked it: oat milk and just a dash of salt.

"How did you know I like a dash of salt in my coffee?" I asked in surprise.

"I noticed it yesterday. I thought it was unusual and wanted to try it. It's good; it takes a bit of the bitterness out." As he spoke, he lifted his own mug to me.

"You are a man of details, aren't you?" I teased.

"Well, you know... maybe it's the banker in me," he sheepishly smiled.

"Mmhmm. I think it is because you are thoughtful," I added, causing him to tip his face down to mask his response.

"We should get going," he murmured.

"Of course," I gulped down the last of my coffee and watched as Nick rinsed out mugs and placed them in the dishwasher.

"Nick," I started as we pulled up to his father's house.

"Mmhmm," he absently mumbled.

"I am so grateful to you and your father. I know you keep shrugging off my thanks, but I truly appreciate all your support. I don't even know why you would go to such trouble for a stranger."

"Please, we have been over this. I am happy to help," he dismissed again before pulling himself from the car.

Grandma met us at the door again with a warm welcome. "I heard you had an eventful night," she whispered as we headed to the dining room.

"It felt so real," I explained.

"I'm sure it did, dear. After the stress you have been under, it's a wonder you are upright," she soothed.

I could barely stop the welling tears from spilling over as I tried to give her a thankful smile back.

"Come on. No one can have a worry over pancakes," she winked as we joined Peter at the already food-laden table.

"Good morning," he smiled up from his paper.

"Good morning," Nick and I responded in unison.

"Antonia, I am so sorry to hear of your troubles sleeping," Peter began as I settled into a seat.

"Thank you. Again, I am so sorry for the trouble," I sighed.

"Think nothing of it. Now, tell me what happened in your dream?" He continued.

"The usually twisted thoughts and anxieties, I suppose," I began as I shook a little salt into my coffee. Peter's lips twitched up in a hint of a smile, and for a split second, his eyes went vacant. "Sorry, I know it seems gross, but it's a habit I picked up from my mom."

"Don't apologize for tastes. I knew a woman that enjoyed a pinch of salt in her coffee a lifetime ago," he mused. "Now, continue with this dream," he prodded.

"Right. So, it started as though I were drowning, and when I looked up, I saw my own face. At first, it was comforting, like I was looking at my reflection on the surface. It was near, and I was safe. But then I realized the face, my face, was holding me under the water. I couldn't breathe. In a panic, I thought I jerked awake. It felt so real like I was there in Nick's spare room. But she was there in the room's corner, watching me. There was a look of insanity in her eyes. I kept telling myself she wasn't really there, but she responded. She swore she was real. And then..." my voice dropped out as I thought of the blade.

"And then..." Peter prompted.

"And then she pulled out a knife, but she didn't threaten me with it; not at first. She cut herself and let the blood drip down her arm to prove she was real. Right in front of me, she wrapped her hand around the blade and squeezed." I shuddered at the memory. "Then she said it was my turn and lunged at me. That's when I screamed, and Nick came."

"I found Antonia alone. She was shaken, but fine," Nick added.

"Thank goodness," Peter nodded. "I think it is best for you to stay here. The security is much more robust."

"Father, she was perfectly safe," Nick protested, but Peter silenced him with the subtle raise of his hand.

"Nick, you have taken great care of our guest, but clearly part of her does not feel safe in your condo. For her safety and sanity, we should find a place where she does feel safe," Peter explained.

"You are so kind, but I really don't want to be a bother," I added.

"Nonsense," Peter dismissed.

"You are both too kind," I lamented again.

"Antonia, you do not know how valuable you are. Life is precious," Peter smiled. "Nick, after breakfast, you can go home and gather Antonia's things."

"Father, she is fine with me. I am more than capable of keeping her safe," Nick protested.

"I am sure you are, but it is not a contest." Peter's voice was closed and meant to end the discussion.

"Fine, but I will stay here as well," Nick reluctantly agreed.

"Very well; your grandmother would like nothing more than to dote on you," Peter smiled.

Nick was hesitant to leave after breakfast, but promised to be back soon. I knew I would be fine, but as the door closed behind him, I felt more vulnerable than I had since I met him on the bus and counted the minutes to his return.