“Stop. It’s good to talk about her and the good times we all had.” I shake my head and wipe a tear from my eye.
Vix clears her throat and takes another drink of her coffee, then looks at me as if she’s just remembered something.
“So, what happened at work today?” She takes a bite of her sandwich.
“I spaced out during a meeting, and Pete scolded me like a child. So, he took me into his office and told me—no, scratch that—forced me to take PTO for the next few weeks. He basically said it’s time for me to get my shit together, but in a calm Pete-type of way. So, I’m now off for the foreseeable future for a long vacation.” I shrug.
“Bout time,” she mutters.
“Hey.” I frown.
“Look, Myssa, I love you, but you’ve been on autopilot for the last few months. And let me guess, sleep is still an illusion and a nightmare?”
“Yeah,” I say, defeated.
Vix looks at me with concern. “When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?”
I pause, pretending to think it over.
“Six months ago?” I guess sheepishly.
“Myssa, this is going to be a good thing. You need the time off to rest and process. Losing Nik was hard, and you never gave yourself time to really grieve.”
“You sound like Pete. Are you two conspiring behind my back?” I narrow my eyes at her accusingly.
“Myssa, really?” She lifts a brow at me.
“I know.” I sigh in frustration but continue. “But seriously, what am I going to do, sit around and reflect? I’m not that person! I’m going to be crawling the walls after the first week. It’s why I don’t ever take a vacation.” I slump back in the chair.
Just as she’s about to counter, her phone rings. Her eyes widen when she sees who it is, and she smiles as she swipes to answer.
“Hello?” She stands up, holding her finger at me as if to sayone minute,and goes somewhere quieter.
Sitting there contemplating how I’m going to keep myself busy for the next few weeks, my mind drifts yet again, and a memory of hazel eyes flashes before me. That spark that hit me earlier sends a chill through my body, and goosebumps rise again, just thinking about the rest of him. I wish I’d gotten his name, but honestly, what are the chances? Dream men are meant to be just that—out of reach and intangible. But I’d be lying if I said I won’t be thinking about him for the next few nights.
Vix comes back and looks at me, concerned. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah, why?” I adjust in my chair and try to force the thoughts of this man out—but who am I kidding.
Her brows furrow. “Because you’re all flushed.”
I smack my hands on my cheeks as if to confirm what she’s saying. Embarrassed, I decide to confess at least some of my thoughts.
“It’s nothing. There was just this guy I ran into in the elevator today. No big deal.” Deciding that’s all I want to share, I offer her a quick shrug and take a bite of my muffin.
She chuckles. “Um, clearly it’ssomething,since you’re sitting here looking like you just had a fever dream.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” I take a sip of my coffee, trying not to be obvious.
“Details…” she demands, hovering a moment longer before taking her seat.
I proceed to tell her what happened, and she looks at me, baffled.
My brows lift. “What?”
“I just find it funny. For as many years as you were Nik’s gopher for guys, you couldn’t muster up a conversation with a guy thatyoulike.” She folds her arms and sits back in her chair.
As I ponder Vix’s words, my mind wonders.
