Page 117 of One Foggy Christmas
SADIE
“So, besides traveling, what have you been up to this last year?” I reach for a warm roll from the basket in the center of the table.
Nash gestures to the waiter, calling him over.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes, do you guys have ranch salad dressing?”
“We do.”
“Can you bring a side for her to dip her roll into?”
“Yes, of course.” The man smiles at me.
“Like, an obscene amount,” Nash reiterates. “She really loves ranch dressing.”
The waiter nods with a bow then rushes to the kitchen.
“Anyway, to answer your question”—Nash shrugs, unaware that he just rocked my world by remembering a small nuance ofmy personality—“I’ve mostly been working a ton. A lot of hours went into selling the company and putting that deal together.”
“Are you glad you sold Superior Health?”
“Do you want me to be honest?”
“After everything we’ve been through, honesty is a given between us, isn’t it?”
“It should be.”
I smile. “Then let me have the truth.”
“Selling the company was always the plan, I just did it sooner than I thought I would. So much about Superior Health was wrapped up in you. Once we got divorced, it was hard to go to work. Everything about the business reminded me of you. So selling it has been a good thing to help bring closure.”
“At least closure came with several zeroes attached to it,” I joke, hoping to show Nash I can handle his honesty and pain.
His brows lift in a teasing way. “I bet you regret taking our fifty-fifty split of Superior Health out of the divorce settlement.”
“I don’t need your money.” I lift my chin with mock arrogance. “I have my own business now.”
“Yes, you do.”
The waiter returns with a bowl of ranch dressing.
“Here you go, miss.”
“Thank you.” I nod at him before diving into another question. “So you got over me by selling your business. What else?”
“I never said I was over you. But I am trying. I’ve been talking with a therapist, spilling all our secrets. Actually, I’ve spoken with her before. You encouraged me to talk about my parents’ abandonment and Nolan’s death. I hate going, but I see how it helps to talk things through.”
I remember reading a text exchange between Nash and me where he talked about hating therapy. It was the first time afterwaking up from my coma that I saw Nash as a human being with wounds and pain, and I see it again today.
Not that I didn’t think he had things to work through, but seeing his strength through hard times and how he’s risen above all the bad in his life makes me respect him more.
“I’ve been seeing a therapist as well.”
He tilts his head, smiling back at me. “Look at us, being so mature with our pain.”
“Aren’t we something?”
