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“Sorry, folks,” I said as I restarted the level I’d been attempting. My gaze drifted yet again to Atlas’s duffel bag across the room, near the hall closet. I’d moved it from my bedroom, but I hadn’t found the courage to dig inside. “Guess I’m just not on my game tonight. Either that or my skills are rusty from my holiday break.”
Ping. Ping. Ping. Predictably, the chat window started to blow up with fans telling me my skills were fine while others wanted to know if I was okay.
“Oh, that’s sweet of you all to care,” I said aloud. “It’s nothing, I promise. Sometimes I wish I was an NPC, no backstory, no love life, no distractions other than the game goal.”
I probably shouldn’t have said love life because the chat flooded with commiserations and bad breakup stories.
“Not a breakup.” I groaned. “At least, I don’t think.” Could there be a breakup if we had never been an official couple? And we hadn’t exactly parted badly. But we had parted, and hell if I knew anything anymore. Keeping my headset on, I rushed to Atlas’s bag, not pausing to overthink yet again, and dug out a small wrapped box. I wasn’t ready to open it, but holding it while I checked out the chat window made me feel marginally closer to Atlas.
Be easier on yourself, one of the chat commenters wrote. You’re only human and you have a heart.
Another commenter added, Maybe your love life sucks, but, dude, you’re making bank streaming.
Another good point.
“Yeah, you’re right. I am only human. And I have a great life. I do. I was saying that to my sibling earlier. I have my dream job. And that’s thanks to all of you who tune in. So thank you for making that possible.”
Ping. Ping. Ping. A bunch of fresh tips came in as a gratifying reminder that people cared about what I did. I had the type of job a lot of people envied—set my own hours, worked from home. Work from anywhere I had Wi-Fi and the ability to stream. But what good was all that flexibility and fun without someone to tell about my day? Someone to care about?
“Thanks for the tips,” I said into the microphone as my brain whirred. Anywhere. I flashed back to my conversation with Gabe but also the way I’d stubbornly insisted on a Kringle’s Crossing future, even when Atlas had wanted to play that silly pick-a-house game. “If only it were that easy to solve my…” I took a breath because I’d been about to reveal more about my love life than I needed to. Logically, I knew I was the only one who could escape the limbo land I occupied, but emotionally, I yearned for someone with a crystal ball to simply tell me what to do. I turned the small present over and over in my hand, the ribbon coming loose. Perfect wrapping job, exactly how I’d taught Atlas.
The chat conversation predictably picked up on my lengthy pause and everything I hadn’t said.
Dude. You’re crushing on someone.
Yeah, he is.
Come on, man. Just tell whoever it is how you feel so you can get your head back in the game.
“Tell them how I feel? I think they know…” I trailed off as I remembered all the times I’d stopped Atlas from talking about the future or feelings. Did he know how I felt? Or was I simply assuming he’d guessed? And if he didn’t know, would it make a difference if I spoke up? “Okay, maybe I’m an idiot.” I chuckled aloud. Without waiting for permission from my brain, my fingers undid the tape on the present. “And talking would be a good idea. Too bad that’s not an option here.”
Taking a deep breath, I opened the present the rest of the way. A small ornament fell into my hand. A small wooden picnic basket dangling from a hook cradled a champagne bottle and two slices of pizza that looked suspiciously like the Mafia Meat Trio. While the ornament was obviously handmade, it wasn’t one I recognized from our stock at Seasons.
Which meant he’d tracked it down, especially for me, likely after our conversation about how much I liked helping shoppers find the exact right ornament to gift. And he’d done exactly that here. The pizza was so realistic I could almost smell the pepperoni and taste our first kiss. The champagne bottle looked freshly chilled, needing only some plastic cups to serve up a taste of that midnight picnic. A piece of paper fluttered out of the package onto the ornament.
Maybe this can be the start of your own collection.
As I looked at his familiar handwriting, my chest ached. Atlas was so much braver than me. The present was perfectly sentimental. He wasn’t afraid to care. I was the one who had held back, trapped by my fears.
