Page 57 of Naughty-ish

He steps out of his house, slipping on the leather jacket I’ve seen him wear before. Stalking up to me on the sidewalk, he stops a foot away, eyes inspecting me.

“Are you okay?” he asks, reminding me of how I asked him the same thing last summer.

Am I okay?

My smile is timid. “Yeah, I think I am,” I admit, allowing my lips to curl higher. “How was your day?”

Nick shakes his head, still watching me. “How was yours?” He knows the kids went to Mitch’s this afternoon.

“The kids were great this morning,” I say, finding I mean every word. They were excited and thanking Santa, even though he wasn’t present. Wink-wink. And just all around happy. “I fought with Mitch.”

“Shit. What happened with Mitch?” Nick scratches his knuckles beneath his chin.

“He’s proposing to Paige.”

Nick continues to study me, assessing me. “How are you feeling about that?”

I turn my head, looking toward my house with its holiday lights twinkling in the twilight. “I feel strangely numb. Like I honestly don’t care. It isn’t about Mitch or Paige; it’s the unfairness. That he’s moving on and I’m . . .”

“What?” Nick steps closer, giving me a whiff of that bayberry and snow combination I’ve come to love. “What are you?”

Lonely. Stuck. Scared of the future.

Then I rethink. I have my children. I’m still young enough. And I’m a little excited about the possibilities of my unknown future.

“I’m just me, doing the best I can every day.” I exhale, and a puff of white mist fills the space between us.

“And I think you’re perfect every day.”

“Nick,” I sigh, lowering my head as my face heats.

“These last few days have been hell without you.”

My head pops up and I take him in. His beard is a little thicker. His hair curls along the edge of his cap, suggesting it’s longer, maybe in need of a cut. He looks tired, worn down a bit.

I tilt my head, needing answers. “You didn’t call me all last week.” After we slept together and baked cookies, I hadn’t heard from him other than one short text until the afternoon I was fired.

He swipes at his hat, as if scratching an itch and then rights the cap again. With the beard and bright eyes, plus that shock of red on his head, he’s a right-fucking-hot elf. But his looks will not detract me.

“I’m an idiot,” he states before glancing away. “That night we had together.” He turns back to face me. “It meant a lot to me.”

I huff. He has a funny way of showing it.

As if reading my thoughts, he says, “I want to show you something.” The request is strange, but his eyes are eager, almost desperate.

“Just give me five minutes of your time. Ten,” he adds, hopeful, determined. “I can explain everything.”

“Fine.” My shoulders fall. I still don’t have answers, but he points toward the driveway, and I walk up the lane. Nick places his hand on my lower back, clutching my coat to stop me from stepping up the stairs to his front door.

“It’s out back.” His voice is rusty, suddenly sounding uncertain about what he’s going to show me. Then, he holds out his hand, reminding me of when he pulled me through the Botanic Garden, and I hesitantly take it.

When we round the corner of his house, I stop.

“You’ve been building a greenhouse.” How very environmental of him, not to mention I’d love a greenhouse. The early plants I could grow. The start of vegetables. Nash and Eloise would love a garden. And all this from the woman who couldn’t even cut her own grass last summer.

Nick tugs me forward and opens the door. As I step inside, he flips a switch and miniature lights come alive, speckling the walls and the ceiling like little stars, and reminding me of the tunnel we stood underneath the night he first kissed me.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper about the empty space that’s the size of a small room.