Page 21 of One Foggy Christmas
“Take as much time off work as you need.”
“Oh, I?—”
“I’m serious. Don’t come back until you’re ready.”
She smiles. “Thanks, Nash. You’re a good friend and boss.”
Friend and boss.
Under the current circumstances, those are the only two things I can be.
SADIE
I pushtheAdd a Minutebutton on the microwave and stare blankly ahead at the rotating dish.
The breakroom door opens, and Nash smiles when he sees me.
“You’re back.”
I recognize the glow of happiness behind his expression because that’s how I feel about seeing him again.
“My flight got in late last night.”
He walks over to the counter, leaning his hip against it. “How are you feeling? I know it’s a stupid question, but are you doing okay?”
Nash is a safe place for my grief. I learned that two weeks ago, when he showed up unannounced at Tate’s funeral.
“I started bawling last night when I walked into my apartment and saw the framed pictures I have of me and Tate. That led to me crying myself to sleep and waking up this morning with a massive headache. But I’m here.”
“With a homemade lunch, even.” He nods at the moving microwave. “Impressive.”
“I wouldn’t call it homemade, but it is a comfort food.”
“Oh, yeah? What food is comforting you today?”
My mouth spreads into a goofy smile. “Spaghetti-Os. I had a strange urge to eat them today.”
“You must really love your Spaghetti-Os.” His eyes drop to my mouth. “Look at that smile.”
“Who says my smile is all about questionable noodles? Maybe I’m just happy to see you.”
“I don’t believe that for one second.”
Our eyes lock on each other, and my stomach does thethingit’s not supposed to do when I’m with him. His gaze slowly moves around my face, almost like he’s soaking in every inch of my skin. I allow myself one brief second to do the same. His stubble is longer today. He’s probably due for a shave tonight or tomorrow morning, but I like the look of this length. I imagine the coarseness under the palm of my hand and?—
The microwave beeps, a long and loud noise that makes me jump. I busy myself with my food as Nash moves around me to the refrigerator.
I’m in trouble.
I just daydreamed about his stubble.
It’s not that I don’t love Stetson, because I do. Things are just difficult between us right now. We spent the majority of the last two weeks in Skaneateles fighting. He kept pressuring me to forgive my parents or to give up my internship, and I kept pushing back.
I’m seeing first-hand what happens when there are cracks in a relationship. You fill them with other things, like daydreaming about what it would feel like to run your fingers across your boss’s stubble.
Maybe it’s because Nash making an effort to come to the funeral when he didn’t have to is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me, and I can’t seem to get the image of him wiping his tears off his cheeks at the back of the church out of my mind. The fact that he’d cry for me—or my pain—moved me on a deeper level than anything else ever has.
These are normal thoughts, right?
