Page 83 of Happy After All

I feel like I have stepped out of my real life and into something else. It’s not my life in LA, not the one I left behind, but it isn’t the life I’ve been living for the past three years either.

I wrapped myself around Nathan Hart, and he wrapped himself around me, and it was like nothing else existed.

Except it does.

It all exists.

I’m overwhelmed by that thought. It tumbles down on top of me like a load of bricks.

It all exists. LA and Christopher. My loss, and this place. Nathan, who he is here, and whoever he is when he isn’t.

I move to the Christmas tree and look at the half-assembled ornaments that are around in an array.

I have to get it finished. It won’t take long, but with everything else going on, I’ve been slow. All the little flamingos have hooks in them, and they are ready to be placed. I know that transit will disrupt some of the decor, but I want everything as mapped out as possible. To be sure I have enough to fill in all the empty spaces. I’ve tied one hundred perfect pink bows.

I pick up one of the flamingos and place it on one of the pink tinsel branches.

When I hear the knock at my door, I know exactly who it is.

I close my eyes. I bitterly regret that he’s going to see the tired woman I was just looking at.

When I open the door, I’m hit by several realizations. The first is that he looks exhausted. But he’s still beautiful. His dark hair is pushed back off his face, and there are shadows underneath his green eyes. He isn’t clean shaven—dark whiskers cover his square jaw. He’s dressed in a white shirt tucked into olive-green pants. He looks rugged. Sexy.

Maybe I look okay to him too.

He is also holding two cups of coffee.

“Can I come in?”

“Please,” I say.

I move away from the door and take one of the coffee cups from his hand. “I assume that one of these is for me.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I brought that to go with my apology.”

“Apology?”

“Yes. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk like that. I shouldn’t have ghosted you. I shouldn’t have trauma dumped on you.”

I’m shocked by that. I laugh. “I think I was the one who trauma dumped, actually. You were clearly going through something, and I decided to hit you with my personal tragedy.”

“No,” he says. “That’s not ... I didn’t intend to drag you into my shit. This wasn’t ever supposed to be that.”

“Come on, sit down,” I say, moving over to my small bistro table and taking a seat, shoving the chair across from mine out with my foot.

He sits. But he looks too large for this room. Too tall. His shoulders too broad.

“So what was this supposed to be?” I ask.

“Good fucking question, Amelia.”

A muscle in his jaw tics, and he looks down at his coffee.

“I have time. Elise is working the front desk.”

“Right. Well. I don’t know. I don’t know what it was supposed to be. I know what it wasn’t supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to do this but ... I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling heavy all the time. I’m tired of grief. I’m tired of living a life I didn’t choose. Mostly, though, I got tired of not having something I wanted.” He lets out a long, heavy breath. “I wantyou, even though I didn’t want to want you.”

I feel like he has taken a very small razor and sliced a part of my heart. Not really in a bad way. I hurt forhim, for what he’s been feeling. And the inconvenience of wanting me, because I feel exactly the same way.

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