Chris isn't sure what to do when there's a knock at the door and he's faced with a sobbing, shaking Lydia.
It's not exactly outside of Chris' purview to deal with crying teenage girls, but it's usually limited to his own daughter, so he trips over himself a little as he lets her in and guides her over to the couch.
"What happened?" he asks, eyes scanning her automatically for obvious injuries.
Lydia's bottom lip is quivering when she looks up at him. He tries not to watch it.
"Oh, god I am so sorry for this," she says, looking mortified through her tears. "It's a girl problem and I thought Allison would be here, which she's clearly not."
Chris claims the spot next to her, offers her the box of tissues from the side table. She takes one and dabs at her face, delicate movement even in a moment of emotional distress.
"Well," Chris says to break the silence, "I do have a teenage daughter. Maybe I can help?"
Lydia shakes her head. "It's stupid."
"I don't think you'd be this upset over something stupid, Lydia," Chris says, because it's true. Lydia is a very bright, level-headed girl, and he can't imagine her crying over spilled milk.
She sighs. "It's about Jackson," she says, and her face contorts into something awful at his name. "He's seeing someone now."
"In London? How do you even know that?" Chris asks.
"Facebook," Lydia squeaks out, and then she's crying into her hands again.
Chris thinks that might have been the wrong thing to ask.
"Whoa, hey now," he says, voice soft. "I thought you were over that little shit."
Lydia shakes her head. "I thought I was. I really wanted to be," she says, swipes at her nose with the tissue and sniffles. "But I can't even entertain the notion of a relationship with anyone else, meanwhile he's posting kissyface pictures with someone new."
Her lower lip starts to tremble again, and Chris has already decided that he's wholly against that, so he moves in and encircles her in his arms, pulls her in for a hug.
She goes easily, buries her face in his shoulder and cries softly into his shirt.
"He's an idiot anyway," he says after a few minutes, and she shakes against him in a way that could be a sob but that he fervently hopes is a laugh.
Lydia pulls back and looks at him, and her eyes are glossy and bloodshot and there's a slight trail of mascara down her cheek, but she's smiling softly and it warms him in a way that he doesn't let himself think about.
Her hand moves to rest over his arm, fingers curling around his wrist. "Thank you," she says, and he's not really sure he did much of anything. But he's thankful that the tears have stopped; that she's smiling that beautiful smile again.
Chris thinks that Jackson is missing out. Because Lydia is sweet, and smart, and breathtaking in a way that Chris definitely shouldn't find her.
He shoves that thought from his mind as soon as he has it, though, and he smiles a tight-lipped smile at Lydia. "You okay now?"
Lydia nods. "I think I just needed to cry it out," she says. Her hazel eyes lock on his and he squirms internally. "You're a really good listener. Allison's lucky to have you."
And then she leans in, presses a soft kiss to his cheek.
Chris doesn't blush. It's against his own personal code. But the back of his neck feels hot and his gut does something twisty that he's pretty sure isn't a good thing.
"I should go," she says as she pulls back, and Chris thinks that sounds simultaneously like the best and worst idea he's ever heard.
But he walks her to the door, smiles at her when she goes.
He lets the door click shut behind her and he's walking back to his study when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. There's a faint bit of pink lipstick on his cheek.
He leaves it there.
