Page 12 of All in December
“They really hit it off,” I blurt, because apparently we’re just repeating conversations now.
Nash chuckles. “Yeah, Benji will make friends in line at the grocery store if you let him.”
“I can imagine that.” I laugh. “Sam’s usually a little more reserved. Takes after me, I suppose. It’s good to see him enjoying himself like this.”
“Well, you’re both easy to like,” Nash says with a smile.
I smile back, feeling overwhelmed in the best way. I truly can’t remember the last time I smiled this much in one day. It feels good, really good.
I glance at Sam, who’s dramatically reenacting a cannonball for Benji using just his hands and facial expressions, and smile softly at him because he seems to be having just as much fun as I am.
“You’re doing a good job, you know. With him,” Nash says, pulling my attention back to him.
Compliments always hit me sideways, mostly because I feel like most of the time they’re not genuine, but this one lands right in my gut because coming from Nash, I know it is. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”
“Yeah, well,” Nash says, “I don’t think any of us do. But it’s obvious you’re doing your best, he’s a great kid, and that’s honestly all you can do.”
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. He said it as if it were obvious. Little does he know, I’ve spent years wondering if I’m doing enough. If I am enough. If I messed up Sam’s life because it’s ultimately my fault his mom left. I’ve tried my hardest to give Sam the best life possible, and for once, Nash makes me feel like I am.
He just… sees me. And damn if that doesn’t undo me a little.
Before I can come up with a semi-normal response that won’t embarrass me further, the waitress returns with a tray full of food. The boys perk up immediately, shuffling items on the table to make space as she lays down our plates.
“Whoa,” Sam says, eyes wide as he grabs a fry from his plate as soon as Cassy sets it down. “So many fries, this is awesome.”
“Make sure you eat your burger, too,” I remind him before he eats only fries for dinner.
“I know, Dad,” Sam huffs, and I shake my head before Itake a bit of my sandwich, trying to resist the urge to look at Nash.
Except he shifts in his seat and his leg brushes mine under the table. It’s barely a tap, but he doesn’t move it. If anything, he presses it further into mine.
My heart stutters, and suddenly, I forget how to chew. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s doing this on purpose. Or maybe he isn’t. Maybe I just imagined it because I want it to have been on purpose. But I’m not. We are touching. And now if I move my leg, will it seem like I’m pulling away? But if I leave it there, is that—what, flirting? Am I flirting?
Oh god.
I finally swallow and glance up at Nash. He’s cutting into his steak, and he doesn’t look fazed at all.
I, on the other hand, am deeply fazed. He’s sent me into an emotional free fall from gently nudging my leg under the table with his because after this? We’re going to go upstairs… to share a bed.
A freaking bed.
With one blanket.
And no clear boundary line.
I need to focus.
Focus on Sam.
On my food.
On literally anything other than the man across from me, who might’ve just flirted, or maybe he just shifted his leg without thinking. I don’t know, but I know what I want it to be.
I shove another fry in my mouth and nod like I’m part of the conversation the boys are having about whether or not ketchup counts as a vegetable, though I’m pretty sure it’s a fruit. It doesn’t matter, though, because I can still feel the heatof Nash’s leg against mine, and I’m too scared to open my mouth out of fear of what might come out.
I’ve already embarrassed myself enough for one day.
But even as I sit here, pretending to listen, one thought keeps circling my head: I don’t know what’s happening between Nash and me.
