Page 55 of The Close-Up
“Naomi,” Simon says from behind the door. “I could hear you sighing a second ago. Will you please just let me in so I can apologize to you already?”
I contemplate ignoring him. But then I won’t be able to concentrate. So I stand up and answer the door.
“What do you want?” I say, crossing my arms.
Simon’s face is twisted in worried wrinkles. “I want to say sorry for how I acted last night.”
“You know that means close to nothing, right?”
His jaw tense, he nods. I take a second to size him up. His uniform of a crisp dress shirt and pressed trousers appears off today. The fabric is rumpled, like he didn’t have time to iron his clothes—or he was so upset at how we left things last night, he didn’t even bother.
It’s the look in his eyes that gives it all away, though. His normally kind stare is tinged with sorrow. It’s doing odd things to my chest—and my heartbeat.
But no matter how sorry he looks, I don’t hold back. I need to make it clear to him how I feel.
“This can’t keep happening, where you routinely pull that unwanted, overly protective bodyguard act.”
“I understand. I’m sorry.” He sighs, pulling his lips into his mouth for a moment before speaking again. “This isn’t an excuse, I just want to explain why I acted the way I did. I had a bit too much to drink and acted like a jerk. And no matter how I personally feel about someone, I still need to be polite to them, especially if they’re important to you.”
The seconds of silence and intermittent eye contact that follow are tinged with tension. We’re technically good again—I’ve made my expectations clear, he’s apologized, and I’ve accepted. But inhabiting this unfamiliar territory of tension with Simon like this is beyond odd. I’m used to joking and chatting with him, not stewing in awkward silence. I don’t know how to breech it.
I don’t have to, though. A beat later, Simon pulls me into a hug. Instantly, I melt into him. I sink into his broad chest, burrowing my face in that lovely spot all guys seem to have, that thick, meaty mass where their shoulder meets the base of their neck.
And then I close my eyes and breathe in the musky, clean scent of his skin. The way he wraps his arms around me, it’s like I’m being cradled. So soothing and comforting. Simon is a top-notch hugger.
“I’m sorry for being such a dick.” His voice is so low and so soft, it could pass for a whisper.
I smile against his shoulder. “It’s weird to hear you say the word ‘dick.’”
He chuckles softly. I squeeze him tighter.
“I didn’t know you were so into hugging,” he says.
“Blame my family. We bombard people with hugs. At every family gathering you hug everyone at least twice, when you arrive and again before you leave. It’s the greatest.”
He pulls away, then bends down to grab a paper bag that’s to the side of the doorway, out of view.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Egg tarts. Proper apology food.”
I squeal and bounce on my tiptoes before snatching the bag out of his hands. “You turn apologies into an art form.”
“Tell that to my mom. She said these would sweeten the apology.”
“You told her about our fight?”
He winces, rubbing his hand behind his neck. “She called earlier to pester me about bringing you over for dinner one of these nights. And when I mentioned that I wasn’t sure you’d even want to come, she got suspicious. Then she wore me down with questions.”
“Ah yes. The mom interrogation, where they pepper you with questions until you can’t take it anymore and tell them everything.”
“Pretty much that.” He sighs. “I’m not going around sharing our arguments with everyone, I promise.”
“Don’t even worry about it,” I say after taking a bite. “My mom does the same thing. It’s why I don’t pick up the phone when she calls if I happen to have had an argument with someone. I don’t want to spill my guts to her.”
He flashes a sympathetic smile.
I hum through another bite. “I’d love to go to dinner at your mom and grandma’s house if the offer still stands.”
