Page 49 of Naughty-ish

Swiping my hand through my hair, I cup the back of my neck and tip my head backward. “The bank let me go.”

Instantly, he’s in my house and I’m in his arms, and he’s clutching me to his chest like he’s just saved me from a fire.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” he mutters against my hair, holding me like he won’t let go and I can only fantasize that he won’t. Because it’s been four flippin’ days of white-out from him.

My door is kicked shut without him releasing me, and then he’s moving us further into my house and away from the cold entryway.

“What happened?” he asks once we stand in my living room.

“Cutbacks.” I sigh. “Newest hire goes first.” I point at myself before breaking away from him and rounding for the couch, collapsing onto the cushions.

Nick follows, sitting beside me, and slips his arm around my shoulders, tugging me to his chest. His lips meet my hair and linger there. “I’m so sorry.”

After a long silence, Nick mutters, “What can I do?”

Hold me. Never let me go. “Is it too early to drink copious amounts of wine?” I’m kidding. Kind of.

“Where are the kids?”

I pull back and stare at him. “School. Their break starts later today.” I have three hours, but I can’t show up shitfaced to pick them up.

“Okay. One glass. On it.” Nick jumps up, like he’s happy he has something to do rather than sit beside a sad, pathetic loser who lost her first job after years out of the job market.

I’ll just start over. Again.

A new year, a new job. Again.

A bulbous glass of wine appears before me, filled almost to the rim with peppery red. “You can chug it or pace yourself, but you’re only getting the one glass before we pick up your kids.”

Nick falls back to the couch with a hefty thud, and I take a hardy guzzle of wine while his hand smooths up my back.

I have no idea what I’ll do next, but I can’t think about that right now. Almost one year from learning about Mitch’s infidelity, and I feel no further ahead in my life.

How will I afford my home?

How will I cover my bills?

How will I feed my kids?

Glancing forward, that righteous elf sits on the china cabinet glaring down at me. Judging me.

“Hey,” Nick purrs beside me. “Don’t overthink things yet. One day at a time, and at this point, one hour at a time.”

I nod before tipping up my glass and taking another deep gulp. My hand trembles, and the tears hit. I cover my face with my palm, tucking my head forward and allowing my hair to curtain me from Nick watching me unravel.

“Hey,” he murmurs again, taking the glass from me and setting it on the low table before us. Next, his arms wrap around me, and I’m tugged down to the couch, snuggled into his chest, and inhaling his bayberry and snow scent as tears soak his shirt. I cry for what’s lost. I cry for the unknown. I might even cry a little in relief as I didn’t love my job.

Still, the tears fall, and I breathe in Nick. The comfort of him. The strength of his arms around me. The sense that it will be okay. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but I’ll figure this out . . . like I always do.

Time passes. I’m not certain how long, but I drift into a cozy sleep as my body shuts down from stress.

When a phone pings, I sit upright, pressing into Nick’s firm chest to notice his phone face up on the table.

“What is that?” I ask, my voice hoarse as his phone lights up with a background image that’s familiar to me.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He taps the home button to brush away the screen saver, but it’s too late.

With my legs tangled in his, and a sleepy look on his face, I stare down at him.