I nod, though it feels like a lie. “You too, I’m sure.”
“I booked my room through the twenty-sixth, so I’ll be sticking around no matter what.” He downs a long swallow of wine. “Are you going to your parents’ house for Christmas?”
I shake my head. “It’s a travel year for them.”
Ever since that first Christmas Nick and I spent together, when I encouraged my parents to hit the road for the purely selfish reason of wanting to be alone with my new boyfriend, my parents have alternated between holidays at home with me and holidays traveling around the world. Usually the years when they’re not home, I go to Alyssa’s or Kennedy’s, or one or both of them come to me. But this year, it seems I’ll be all on my own.
I had been looking forward to it, honestly. But now the thought of waking up alone on Christmas sounds nothing short of awful.
“How are they doing?”
“They’re great. Out there living their best retirement lives.” My parents loved Nick, and though they respect me enough to never ask about him, I know for a fact my mom has read every single one of his books and follows him on Instagram.
“Please give them my best.”
“I will.” The outcome of this dinner will determine whether or not I do. I finish the rest of my wine. “How is your family doing?”
Nick refills my glass before answering. “They’re fine.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t push. I only met Nick’s parents once in the three years we were together. They’renot bad people, and as far as I can tell, Nick had a perfectly pleasant childhood. But he doesn’t have much in common with his family, and once he moved to New York for college, none of them seemed too invested in staying in contact. I don’t think they ever got over him leaving Ohio and choosing not to join the family business. It wasn’t until he reached out to them with news of his upcoming six-figure book deal that they seemed to start to take him seriously, like his success suddenly made him worthwhile in their eyes. It always made me sad to think about when Nick and I were dating, but I think he’s okay with where their relationship stands, so I learned to leave it alone. I wonder if and how things have changed as he’s become more and more of a household name.
Nick clears his throat, drawing my attention to the troubled look in his hazel eyes. “I hope nothing that happened today, during the massage…or after, made you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I would want.”
“I know. And I wasn’t uncomfortable.” Unless by uncomfortable, you mean uncomfortably aroused, that is. “This week sure has thrown a lot at us. I think we’re handling it as best we could.”
“Things haven’t exactly gone to plan, but I can’t say I’m sorry at how they’ve turned out.” He swirls the wine in his glass.
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s been really good to see you again, Jess.” His voice is soft, layered with emotions. “I don’t think I realized how much I missed you until I saw you backstage.”
“That was probably mostly the dress,” I quip, needing to brush off the heaviness of his sentiment.
The corner of his mouth quirks up in what used to be my favorite half smile. “It sure as fuck didn’t hurt.”
My cheeks heat, and I know from experience they’re turning the color of the red wine left in my glass. I want to return his sentiment, about missing him, because I realize, sitting here with him and having a normal conversation, that it’s true. I have missed him. But I don’t know if I’m ready to admit it.
I divide the small amount of wine remaining in the bottle between each of our glasses. “You know how you always used to tell me that I rely too much on the miscommunication trope in my books?”
He frowns a little, confused about the shift in topic, but then he nods. “And you used to tell me that in real life, couples not being able to communicate was one of the biggest relationship struggles people have.”
“I stand by that.” I take in a deep breath. “But tonight, I want us to do better.”
Nick pushes his plate away, though he’s only eaten half of his pasta. I don’t think I can eat another bite either. I swig the last of my wine, and Nick does the same. We stack up our dishes and maneuver the table out into the hallway. I hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob before letting the door click shut behind me.
Nick resumes his position on the bed. Before I sink back into the armchair, I put a few ice cubes into two glasses and pour each of us a decent-sized slug of whiskey.
When I hand Nick his glass, our fingers brush and I experience one of those moments I’ve only written about, when a spark jumps between us.
“Here’s what I propose.” I settle into the armchair andwish this room were bigger so there could be a little more breathing room separating us. “We take turns asking questions. Honest answers only. If you don’t want to answer, you drink.”
He studies the caramel-colored liquid in his glass. “This seems like a dangerous game, Jess.”
I shrug. “Only if you aren’t willing to tell the truth.”
He sighs, and I watch the debate play out over his face. “Okay. But I reserve the right to put a stop to this at any point if things get out of hand.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. I’ll even be generous and let you go first.”
