Page 13 of All in December
I just really, really don’t want it to stop.
CHAPTER 6
Nash
The room’s quiet.
The boys fell asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows about ten minutes ago. Now, Caleb is in the bathroom, and I’m in bed—the bed we’re sharing tonight—in my boxers and a T-shirt, scrolling through my phone.
I’ve caught him looking at me multiple times throughout the day, and he always gets shy when he realizes he’s been caught. It’s cute. But after I caught him shifting in his seat when my shirt rode up and he licked his lips, I wanted to test something. I pressed my leg to his under the table, and he didn’t pull away or flinch.
I’m not entirely sure what that means yet, but I think it’s safe to say he feels this thing between us too.
The bathroom door creaks open, and he makes his way toward the empty side of the bed. I glance up at him. He’s wearing glasses now, and they somehow make him even more attractive.
He pulls back the covers, and the mattress dips slightly under his weight as he settles in.
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve shared a bed with someone. After my divorce, I learned to sleep alone, and it quickly became my new normal. Now, Caleb is here, lying just a foot away from me in the stark silence, and every inch of me is aware of him.
I set my phone down and whisper, “The boys are out cold.”
Caleb lets out a soft breath. “Yeah. I had a feeling Sam was going to crash after the day we’ve had.”
“They wore themselves out today.” I glance over at Caleb, finally letting myself take in the slope of his shoulder under his T-shirt, the curve of his mouth in the soft light from the lamp, and those rectangular-rimmed glasses. “So, glasses?”
His cheeks turn red as he blushes, and I love that sight. “Uh, yeah, I wear contacts during the day.”
“I like them. They look good on you.”
He turns toward me slightly, his cheeks still flushed red. “Thanks again… for letting us crash here.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” I assure him. “It wasn’t even a question.”
“Sorry, I just…” he trails off, hands fidgeting with the blanket as a distraction. “I don’t know what to do with myself right now.”
His voice is quiet, surely to not wake the boys, and he looks nervous.
“You don’t have to do anything,” I soothe. “We’re just lying here.”
“I know,” he says quickly. “It’s just that… it’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to anyone. That sounds pathetic, but I haven’t shared a bed in years.”
I nod. “Neither have I. Unless you count the kids.”
He’s still fidgeting, fingers twitching against the edge ofthe blanket. I want to reach over and still them—take his hand in mine. But I don’t.
Even with the tension boiling between us.
“I used to be better at this,” he admits after a pause.
“Better at what?” I ask softly.
“At not feeling so nervous around other people, I guess. Or feeling like I’m about to say the wrong thing. Or move the wrong way. Or ruin… whatever this is.”
“You haven’t ruined anything,” I tell him, wanting to reassure him. “You couldn’t.”
He lets out a quiet breath and turns slightly more toward me. There’s hesitation in the way his body hovers, unsure if he should lean in or roll away.
“I think I forgot what it feels like to be seen,” he says, his voice a little unsteady. “Not just as a parent or a coworker or a problem-solver. Just… me. As my own person.”
