Page 38 of The Meaning Of You

“Shit!” I hopped sideways out of view, cheeks blazing.Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.My body was hardly a carbon copy of Nick Fisher’s—read: not even close. Too many pastries, too few hours—read: zero hours—spent at the gym whose atmosphere offended my sensibilities only slightly less than boarding a sweaty, crowded train at rush hour, too many years under my belt, and a set of genetics which ran to receding hairlines and a cruelly slow metabolism. All had necessitated an upsize in the trousering department at least three birthdays ago. None of it major, but definitely not in the league of the god that was Nick Fisher standing shirtless in front of me.

“Back in a minute.” I made a beeline for my bedroom, ignoring the laughter that followed and the shouted?—

“Don’t bother just for my sake.”

“In your dreams,” I shouted back. “That’s an entirely different recipe and one not covered by tonight’s episode. Please subscribe below.”

The clear sound of his laughter made me smile, and somehow, a crappy New Year’s Eve had become something I’d remember for years.

My friendship with Nick had definitely taken a turn for the better.

CHAPTER NINE

End of January

Nick

My friendshipwith Madigan was an increasing problem. The man made my skin itch, like it was stretched too tight over my bones. Talking with him was easy on one hand and way too fucking complicated on the other. My own fault entirely after dropping thebarely copingball on New Year’s Eve and finding myself searching his number on my phone.

Not that I regretted the decision. I’d been a mess, no two ways about it. Christmas had sucked and I hadn’t even begun to recover before New Year was at the door. My heart had been an emotional washing machine, the constant back-and-forth slosh of anger, misery, numbness, and back to anger again had left me exhausted and capable of little more than getting through the day.

The call with Madigan had saved my fucking life, and I’d somehow survived my first holiday season without Davis. We allhad. It was a start. I was on the path and moving forward, most days at least.

I’d had the sense to go against my default position of work, work, work and, whatever you do, don’t feel. With Davis’s and Madigan’s voices playing in my head—don’t ask—I kept my workload light with just enough routine tax stuff to distract without making me busy. And even though I’d protested when the financial crimes unit boss suggested moving my case load to another investigator for a while, they’d been right. I was in no headspace for exacting forensic calculations that needed to stand up in court. Hell, I could barely get my own bills paid in time, let alone follow a complicated money laundering trail. My bank account took a hit, but my mental health was all the better for the downtime—an outcome that admittedly surprised me.

I could hear Davis laughing in my ear. He’d once bawled me out in the middle of an argument, saying,You seem to think you can bully life’s crises into submission. Like they’d even listen to you. Like the universe could be arsed dealing with your infernal bullshit. A crisis is meant to stymie you, Nick. It’s meant to make you think outside the box. To grow as a person. What it’snotmeant to do is confirm your opinion that you’re always right.And then he’d kissed me.

Point to you, sweetheart.

And through it all—the tears and the rants and the long, long silences, Madigan had been there. Not in person. I was too raw to deal with the contradictionshisparticular presence lit in my soul. But there were texts, the occasional call, and a surprising weekly delivery of pre-made meals from an organic supplier I’d never heard of, just to remind me someone was watching.

I’d called and ripped him a new one for the sheer impertinence of implying I couldn’t cook for myself, and he’d laughed at me.

“Get over yourself,” he’d said. “You’re losing weight and I can smell the cooking oil and takeout from here.”

“You have no idea what I look like,” I’d snapped back while simultaneously making my way to the bathroom to take a look for myself. “You haven’t seen me since I hit you with a length of wood, and I’m strangely feeling that same urge again.”

Another laugh. “I don’t need to see you. I canhearyou’ve lost weight. Your words are thin. Puny little adjectives falling all over each other because they don’t have the strength to stand up on their own. And your nouns are... brittle. When you yell at me, it’s like a tiny puff of air that floats away. Where’s the acid? Where’s the bullshit? Where’s... Nick?”

I’d snorted and turned sideways to study my flat belly in the bathroom mirror. “It floats away cos that’s what I wishyou’ddo.” I’d pinched a handful of saggy skin and winced. Okay, so I could do with adding a few pounds, not that I was going to tell him that.

“No, you don’t,” he’d said smugly. “I’m just saying what everyone else wishes they could.”

“Fuck off.”

“And my job is done.” He’d hung up and I’d worn a smile for the rest of the day.

AndI ate his damn food.

Worst of all, it was really fucking good.

I never mentioned it again.

The rest of our conversations had been about nothing in particular, just a sane voice to amuse and distract me. Someone who didn’t spend all their time worrying about saying the wrong thing. I’d take Madigan’s bluntness every day over the sympathetic platitudes of all the rest.

But the New Year’s call had also turned into so much more than I was willing to admit. A four-hour conversation spent learning about each other’s family, teasing and joking andtalking about our romantic pasts. He’d shown me how to make a fabulous chilli hot chocolate which we’d consumed on our separate decks as we continued to talk by video until the weak grey light of dawn spilled over his lawn and my street.

He’d given me a video tour of his house—a beautiful property styled on a modern barn conversion with towering ceilings, exposed beams, and a lot of reclaimed wood. And bookcases everywhere, some even kitted out with sliding ladders. Copper pans softened the bright white kitchen, and comfortable couches and colourful rugs filled the living space. It was a house built for a man who spent a lot of time in it.

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