“I love it. Thank you.” As he stands, he places it gently on the coffee table before grabbing the other present from under the tree. “Here.” He thrusts the gift at me. It’s heavier than I expected, and I nearly let it fall to the floor. When I reach inside, I find an adorable mug with my name on it. “It’s for your hot chocolate.”
Covey’s tone is flat, and I’m not entirely convinced that he’s even happy to give it to me.
“This is perfect, thank you.” The message on it about being the best teacher is one that I have on at least six mugs in my kitchen and two in my classroom. Still, it’s a kind gesture. One can never have too many mugs, though my cabinet might beg to differ on that one.
“There’s, uh, something else.” He tugs at the hem of his sweatshirt.
“Oh?” Honestly, the mug is plenty for me. I don’t go all-in for presents this time of year. Partly because I inevitably end up with a pile of junk from my students. It’s all thoughtful and wonderful, but I quickly learned there’s a limit to the number of craft projects I can store in my small home.
“Give me a second.” Covey walks over to his bag by the front door and digs around for a minute. He glances back several times, almost as if he’s trying to decide whether he should give me the gift. Eventually, he sighs and pulls a small box from the bag.
Even before he’s back, I recognize the packaging from a local chocolate company. “I thought you could probably use some more hot chocolate. Good stuff, not that crap you buy at the grocery store.”
“All chocolate is good chocolate,” I say in reply. Of course, he’s right. This is the real deal and so much better than the powder that comes in the little packets. Slightly less convenient to make in the five-minute breaks I get at work, but worth the extra effort in the evening when I’m winding down. And Covey went all out on this one. The mug might be generic, but I can tell he picked these out specially for me. All the flavors in the mixed pack are hand-selected. Maple, dark chocolate, and caramel. None of the weird ones, like orange or raspberry.
Fruit does not belong in chocolate.
“This is wonderful. Thank you.” I roll the box over in my hands a few times. “Would you like some? I could make it now.” We’ve only got a little time left in our private celebration before he has to get ready for The Nutcracker, and I can already feel our little bubble fading away. “Or I could make you some tea.”
“No thanks. I… I think I should get going. My body’s stiff, so I want to spend some extra time stretching. Maybe get in another round of yoga.” He smiles, but it lacks his usual enthusiasm.
“You sure?” I thought I got him until noon. It’s not like there were strict plans. Movie, presents, and treats. I spent the whole week looking forward to it, thinking about what it would be like to have that time together. To hold on for a few minutes to what it’s like right now, knowing the whole thing could change in another week.
“Yeah, sorry. But thanks so much for this. It’s exactly what I needed.”
“Me, too.” There’s so much more I want to say, but no way to express what I’m feeling right now. The way I want to wrap him up in my arms, hold on, and never let go.
I already decided. We go back to being friends with no benefits. It’s best for my heart. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a few years to finish getting over Covey before he tries to introduce me to his real boyfriend. Even thinking about it has me ready to throw myself on the ground and beg him to stay, to give me this one last week.
But Covey’s coat is already on, and then, before I can find the words, he’s giving me a quick hug, jogging out to his car, and disappearing down the street.
CHAPTER 25
COVEY
Idon’t want to get up.
Scratch that. I’m incapable of getting out of bed. The gravity in my bedroom is holding me down, forcing me to stay curled up under the covers. It’s the same position I’ve been in since I came home last night. I stopped by the bathroom long enough to make sure all my stage makeup had been removed and that I showered off the worst of the day, but since then, I’ve been right here.
It’s anyone’s guess how many hours of sleep I got last night. Mostly, I stared at the inside of my eyelids, trying to make sense of yesterday.
Everything started out perfectly. I had thePower Rangerready to go, nestled in my bag. And then Aidan gave me a beautiful snow globe. It’s the kind of tourist crap that I usually make fun of, but coming from him, it meant a lot to me. Plus, it says exactly what I feel. This is my home, where I’m meant to be.
And then he listed off the people who missed me, who wanted me back here. Everyone except him. The one person I really care about. The person who makes this place feel like home. Not where I grew up or where my family is, but truly home. Where I belong.
If I needed a sign to know that he’s not interested in anything beyond this hoax we’ve put together for my family’s benefit, that was it.
After that, I couldn’t go through with my plans. It’s exactly like I told Leo. I’m not willing to risk losing the friendship that we have, even if it’ll kill me to watch him walk away.
And if I don’t find some way to break the pull keeping me in bed, very soon he’s going to be here, banging on the door, and wondering how I somehow fell into a dark depression overnight.
The thought of trying to explain my mood to him is what finally gets me moving. Shower. Shave. Tea. Yoga. I go through all the motions of starting the day, but with none of the usual energy. Even yoga has minimal effect on my mood.
When my alarm goes off to signal it’s time to leave the house, I look like a functional person, but I don’t feel like one.
And if I thought my mood was foul at home, it doesn’t improve even the slightest when I get to my parents’ house and find Aidan’s car parked out front. We agreed to come separately, mostly because of my time constraints today with performances. I’m even more grateful now. Being trapped inside a vehicle with him, our bodies close together, with no escape—even for ten minutes—is a nightmare.
Being in the same house will be hard enough. I need to get my shit together. I need to figure out how to get over this if we’re going to be friends. But right now, I can’t do any of those things. All I want is my duvet back so I can cry for thenext few hours, hoping it’ll exhaust all my emotions before the performance this afternoon.
