Page 114 of Fumbled Into Love

“I trusted Savannah,” I admit in a whisper. “She had the power to destroy me, and she did. Nathalie has all of that too…”

Sharon shrugs—actually shrugs—and I question the amount of money I pay for her to turn my brain into goop every week.

“If she already has the power, there’s not much you can do, but trust she won’t hurt you.” Her eyes narrow, and I know I’m in for a question that’s going to rock my shit. “Are you not in love with her, or are you preventing yourself from telling her how you feel because you think you’re unworthy of giving and receiving love?”

“What the fuck?” The words tumble from my lips. “It’s not even nine in the morning,” I say, though her words strike true.

“I don’t think sugarcoating gets anywhere with you.”

“Maybe there is a small part that believes I don’t deserve a second chance with love when my first and only experience crashed and burned.”

“Do you give up after a bad play when you’re on the field?” Sharon asks, tapping her pen against her notepad.

“No?”

“So you’re going to give up after one bad relationship?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it? You wouldn’t throw an entire season away after one bad game, so why are you potentially throwing away a lifetime with someone you love because of one bad relationship?”

Her logic settles in my chest, and something clicks. I never thought about it that way before, that quitting is the wrong way to go about it, but rather, I should review the tape and learn what went wrong so I can do better.

Or perhaps, keep searching for theperfect puzzle piece.

“It seems the analogy worked.” Sharon smiles, proud of herself, and I find myself smiling in response.

Making the appointment and showing up for the first session was hard, and each session since has been more difficult than the last, but I feel lighter like the weight of the past is lifting from my shoulders, and I can breathe again.

“Think about that, and we’ll chat after the holidays.”

“Declan, where is the mistletoe?!” Nathalie screams as I walk through the door.

Oh my God…My house was festive before, but now…This rivals the North Pole.

Tinsels everywhere, wrapping around chairs and hanging off furniture. The house smells like cranberries and oranges, and as I walk through the kitchen, there are dozens of Christmas platters shaped like trees and candy canes and gingerbread cookies on the counter, covered in appetizers and snacks.

My girlfriend loves Christmas.

Duly noted.

I slip into the bedroom to change when I choke at the sight of the bed sheets. Gone are the neutral linen sheets Nyla helped me pick out. In their place are bright red and green sheets covered with snowmen and gnomes.

Nowhere is safe. The normal bath mats and towels are replaced with ones that resemble candy canes. Where the hell did she put all of this in her apartment?

“Bend down!” Nathalie yells, shoving Declan as I enter the living room, forcing herself onto his shoulders. “Okay, now slowly walk toward the entryway so I can hang this.”

They maneuver around the space, avoiding decorations so Nathalie can hang the mistletoe. The discomfort in my chest from the therapy session loosens when she laughs, and I snag a pretzel from a bowl on the counter.

Since she moved in, there has been an abundance of pretzels, and I’ve even found a few of Nathalie’stop-secrethiding spots. A tampon box under the sink screams, ‘Something is hidden in here,’ but I left the pretzels where I found them, knowing I would face her wrath if I ate them like I desperately wanted.

“Deon, come here,” Nathalie calls from Declan’s shoulders. Her eyes dart to the mistletoe she hung, and she gestures for me to stand in the spot before she leans down and places a chaste kiss on my lips. “Oh, it’s weird kissing from this height.”

Declan chuckles before crouching down so she can hop off his shoulders.

I lean in to kiss her again when the doorbell rings, and Nathalie shoots past me.

“They’re here!” she yells, voice brimming with excitement. As she swings the door open, Sharon’s words ring in my mind.

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