Page 52 of That Time I Kissed The Groomsman Grump
MOM: Try not to stay out too late. LOL!
If she has any clue that Grantly Bender interrupted what could’ve been the best kiss of my life, she doesn’t let on. I text her back, short and sweet. No specifics or room for discussion.
ME: I did. He is. I’m being good. Love you!
I feel a twinge of guilt not being with my family at the house tonight, but I’ll have the rest of the week to see my parents and the rest of my life to be near Beau. Besides, Brady actually needs me, and I like feeling needed. So I put my phone ondo not disturb,then set an alarm for the morning. I’m planning to stay awake all night, but if Idohappen to fall asleep, I should still have plenty of time to get to Sadie’s for our hair and makeup trial.
To be sure I don’t miss the alarm, I shove my phone in the pocket of Brady’s hoodie. Then I join him in the lobby. He’s back on the couch, so I plop down beside him and bounce a couple of times. “Comfy.”
“It does the job,” he says. “But you really don’t have to stay.”
“I told you, I want to stay. What if LuLu goes into distress? You could use my help. And even if everything goes smoothly, you shouldn’t be alone. I want to keep you company.”
“Fine.” He stands, moving over to one of the chairs. “I’ll let you take the couch, then. In case you want to get some sleep.”
“I don’t need sleep. What I need is to hear more about sky elves and romance novels.” I pat the cushion next to me. “Come back,” I say. “Please?” He blows out a breath but does what I ask, sliding onto the opposite side of the couch. “You know, I pulled plenty of all-nighters in college,” I tell him. “And during the first year of my nursing internship, I worked the overnight shifts from seven p.m. to seven a.m.”
“Oof.” Brady pulls a face. “That sounds like twelve hours of torture.”
“Actually, it was kind of peaceful. Quiet. Maybe even a little boring.”
He leans back against the couch like he’s getting comfortable. “Tell me. I’d like to hear.” His voice is a low grumble I can practically feel in my own chest.
“Tell you what?”
“About your job. Your life. You.” He meets my gaze. “I want to picture how things will be when you’re in LA. To imagine you in action. Doing your thing. Nurse Natalie being a lady boss.”
I arch a brow. “Can I just be a boss?”
“You?” He smiles. “Absolutely.”
“I guess I do have some pretty good stories from my last rotation. I can start with the funniest. Then I’ll do the saddest. And I’ll end with the happiest because you like the happily ever afters.”
He nods. His eyes are laser beams drawing me in. “That sounds good.”
“Okay,” I begin. “This one night…”
ChapterTwenty-One
BRADY
Natalie fell asleep with her head on my shoulder about five minutes ago. Until then, we’d been taking turns trading our best work stories. But she’d also been yawning for a good half hour. Her blinks kept getting longer. Longer. Longer. And she kept inching closer. Closer. Closer. Then, with a soft sigh, she finally drifted off. I’ve been sitting here since then, watching her chest rise and fall in slow, soft breaths. I’m a fan of the closeness. Of Natalie’s warmth. Her quiet snores. Maybe even a bit of drool.
I shift my weight, only slightly, to see if she might stir, but Natalie doesn’t move. Not even a twitch. She really must be out cold. So I take a chance and start sharing a little more than I would if she were awake.
“I don’t want to work at the clinic anymore,” I say into the silence. The words echo off the tile, and my heart flops like a trout on a line. “At least not forever,” I add. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Doc Swanson. And Mrs. Swanson is great. I know their work is important. But this… job… It isn’tmypassion. I don’t wake up excited for what the day will bring. I’m already burned out, and I haven’t started vet school. That doesn’t bode well for the next forty years of employment…”
I pause, and my pulse ticks up a notch. I’ve seen plenty of movies and TV shows where a character confesses something in the dark, convinced the person they’re with is asleep. Then the camera pans around to the opposite side of the bed, and the person’s eyes are wide open—facing away so nobody else knows they’re awake.
No one except the entire viewing audience.
I glance down at Natalie. When she fell asleep, her hands were folded on her stomach, but they’ve slipped off now. She isn’t pretending. And anyway, I don’t think faking sleep is something she’d do. If there’s one thing I appreciate about Natalie, it’s her honesty. She’s relentless in speaking the truth, even when it hurts. I am not always that way. Which doesn’t mean I walk around lying all the time. I just clam up. Fewer words means less truth. Less pain. Maybe that isn’t the perfect solution. But it’s better than wrecking someone’s feelings, or exposing myself. Vulnerability isn’t my thing.
“I tried telling my dad I wasn’t fulfilled working at the clinic,” I say out loud. I’m half expecting to feel silly talking to myself, but it’s actually a relief to process the memory. “He just shook his head and laughed. I’m sure he didn’t mean to make me feel bad. But I did. Then he said, ‘Son, you can’t possibly think everyone is fulfilled by their careers.’ He put air quotes around fulfilled, and I felt even worse. Then he said, ‘Think about it, Brady. Some jobs are pretty darn terrible. But they’re also necessary for society to function. So people just put their heads down and do the hard work. And they don’t worry about fulfillment.’”
I pause for a moment. “He was right. People all over the world are in jobs that don’t make them happy. But they need to pay the bills and put food on the table. Support their loved ones. I’d like to provide for a family too. Make a stable living. But what I dream of doing has more highs and lows. Peaks and valleys. Climbs and falls. That rollercoaster might even be part of the thrill for me. But it’s not exactly conducive to a steady income, so…”
I let the sentence trail off.
