Page 51 of All in December
“Call me if you need anything at all, okay, bud?” I instruct as I hug him.
“Okay, bye, Dad!” he rushes out, pulling away before I’m ready.
“Have fun, and be good for your mom,” Nash tells the kids before we both turn and walk out the door.
I lied.I might be equally as nervous about this Christmas party.
The hotel comes into view, and it feels like my heart is trying to climb out of my chest. The building is modern and tall, all sleek glass and warm lights glowing against the winter night. My palms are already damp, so I rub them against the fabric of my slacks, trying to steady myself.
Beside me, Nash leans in and presses a soft kiss to my cheek at the red light before we turn into the parking lot, like he can sense the shift in my breathing.
“This’ll go great,” he says quietly, and I believe that he believes that. Meeting Tess was one thing, but now that we’re here, I think I underestimated how big of a deal this will be too.
When he shifts the car into park, I hesitate. My hand hovers over the seatbelt buckle as I stare out the windshield. Ican feel the question rising in my throat, and I blurt it out before I lose my nerve.
“Hey, Nash, uh…” My voice wobbles, so I clear it and try again. “What should I say if someone asks who you are to me?”
The question hangs between us, and I feel ridiculous for asking it in my mid-thirties, but it’s been gnawing at me since he invited me to this party. I’ve run through the scenario in my head a hundred times: Nash getting pulled into a conversation while I linger nearby, some colleague wandering over, asking who I am and what I’m doing there. I feel lost over such a simple question, fumbling, trying not to say the wrong thing. I don’t know what Nash’s coworkers know about him outside of work, or if he’s out at work. And I don’t want to say something that catches him off guard or unintentionally outs him.
Nash’s eyebrows lift, then soften with understanding.
“Oh, baby,” he soothes. “Is that why you’ve been so tense? I thought it was about leaving Sam with Tess for the night.”
I exhale a quiet laugh. “No, I think that went well, and he’ll be just fine.”
“You can tell people I’m your partner. Or your boyfriend,” he adds in a warm tone. “If you’re more comfortable with that.”
I blink at him as the b-word echoes in my head. “You want to be my boyfriend?”
Nash smiles so softly, and sure, andhim.
“I’d be honored to be your boyfriend,” he assures me. “If you’ll have me.”
I’m stunned silent for half a second, then I nod, a slow grin spreading across my face. “Yeah. I want that.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that, Cay.” He winks.
We climb out of the car, and the night air hits my face. Nash rounds the front of the car and meets me on the passenger side. He cups my face with both hands, the heat of him a stark contrast to the winter air. He leans forward and kisses me, respectfully, of course, since we’re at his company work party.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead lightly against mine.
“Come on, boyfriend,” he murmurs, threading his fingers through mine. And just like that, the weight in my chest eases as we walk hand in hand toward the hotel entrance together. The night is dark and cold, snow is lightly falling from the sky, and it feels like the perfect night with the kind of magic only December can bring.
Inside, the lobby glows with soft lighting and garlands wrapped around banisters. A towering tree stands near the front desk, decked out in white lights and matching, themed ornaments.
Nash pulls me up to the counter with him while he slides his card across to the concierge and checks us in. They hand us two key cards and promise our bags will be sent up to the room shortly.
Once we’ve checked in, Nash leans close again, lips brushing my temple. “Ready?”
I exhale and nod. “Let’s do it.”
He holds my hand as he walks us to the Elkwood Ballroom. It’s clear Nash wasn’t exaggerating about the fact that his company goes all out for their holiday party. People in sleek suits and cocktail dresses mingle near multiple fully stocked bars as waitstaff weave through the crowd with trays of champagne and bite-sized hors d’oeuvres.
Nash gives my hand a quick squeeze as we walk in. “Still good?”
“Barely,” I mutter. “This is amazing.”
He chuckles softly, and before I can soak in another second, a man in a navy suit spots him from across the room and makes a beeline over.
