Page 49 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice
“I … don’t know,” I tell her and let out a long, deep sigh. The moment Jay stepped out of Caleb’s, exhaustion took me under with the force of a tsunami. “Right now, I need to not decide what I need, if that makes sense.”
“I got her,” Henry offers, and Lauren stops in front of us. Her eyes dart from Henry, who’s snaking his arm around my waist, to Jensen coming to a stop in front of me, and then back to me. Suddenly, her gaze softens.
“I sure hope you do.” She steps closer for a quick hug before she links her arm with Kieran’s, and the two of them walk off, whispering and with a little spring in their steps.
“When did they become best friends?” I point at the two of them, confused. Henry shrugs.
“Probably somewhere between a midnight feeding for Pumpkin and finding Cinnamon,” he jokes. “I think they both hang out at Caleb’s a lot. Probably then.”
“Huh.” I take a deep breath of the cool evening air. The sun is setting, the sky a cloudless pale orange.
“Let me get you home?” Henry asks, and I glance up at him. There’s a tiny wrinkle forming between his eyebrows, worry creasing his usually smooth, charming face.
Ugh. Concern looks good on him. Annoyingly good.
“I’m not about to break down,” I quickly assure him, but let him lead me to his car. Good thing we shared Lauren’s on the way here. “Can’t say it was easy to see him, but I’ve had two months, alotof ice cream, and shouting along to sad songs to process that cheating motherfucker. The breakdown days are behind me.”
“It’s still a lot for one day,” he points out, and the sincerity in his voice covers me like a warm blanket, making me take a sharp breath. “It’s okay not to be okay.”
I gulp around the knot suddenly making itself at home in my throat and focus intently on the gazebo across the street as I try not to cry. That charming, Hallmark-movie little thing, peeking out from between the trees as if it’s eavesdropping on my personal crisis.
That caught me off guard. After a lifetime of “pull yourself together” or “stop whining,” someone sayingthis, in that soft, sincere tone that doesn’t ask me to be strong or charming or anything other than sad for a hot second—it messes with me.
There’s no epiphany, no choir of angels appearing out of nowhere. Only racing thoughts and fighting the urge to cry myself into a puddle. I’m realizing that for once, someone who’s not Lauren gives a damn about me.
That little thought occupies my brain, and I hold on to it, as if it might evaporate until we arrive at my place.
“Sorry you always have to go out of your way to come here,” I whisper. But before the last word passes through my lips, Henry grabs my chin and turns my face to him with a gentle, yet steady touch.
“This is not ‘out of my way,’” he says firmly, voice low and resolute. His eyes are scanning mine, searching for the answer to anunspoken question. “Nic, this is the bare minimum. But you’ve got to let me in. Tell me what is happening, so I can help. Even if that only means being there for you while you spiral into an emotional puddle.”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” I protest weakly, trying to avert my gaze, but he gently turns my face back to him.
“You’re not.”
Two words.
Two ridiculously cheesy, yet earth-tilting words. They land harder than a punch, knocking the air out of my lungs in the best way possible.
“But what if someday you wake up and I am?” I ask, my voice breaking. He lets out a breath and tilts his head, eyebrows raised, and I brace for a loving schooling.
“Does that mean you think one day I might suddenly become one?” His voice is calm but pointed. And honestly? If we weren’t having such a deep moment, that eyebrow raise might be illegal levels of hot.
“No. No, of course not,” I answer quickly, relieved when that pained expression melts.
“See?” he asks, now almost sounding amused. “Then why the hell would I think you would be? Come on, let’s get inside.”
Once inside, he makes me hang out with the animals while he prepares our dinner. When I try to check in and ask if I can help, he promptly sends me back to the living room.
But I‘m restless.
I’m willing them to go away, but I keep hearing Jay’s and my family’s voices in my head. Their voicemails I couldn’t resist listening to when I needed to remind myself why leaving and cutting them out was my only option for a life that I’m allowed to be happy in.
“You should be the bigger person.”
“You’re the most selfish person I know. It’s not that big of a deal. You’re tearing the family apart!”
“I can’t believe you’d ignore your own sister over this. You need to grow up.”
