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He lines up his. “So, Izzie said Amelia took her and Clay to your place yesterday.”
I freeze up for a second wondering where he’s going with this. “Yeah, the kids were bored or should I say Izzie was bored.” He chuckles knowing how hyperactive Izzie is. “I’ve mentioned to Amelia in passing that I’ve been wanting to bring them out there because there’s loads to do. I guess she thought it was a good idea and I was free.”
“The kids said they had fun.”
“They did.” I smile thinking about yesterday. “I’d love to have them more often.”
His face falls as he stands up straight. “I’ve been a shitty friend as well as an asshole lately. I’m sorry, Nate. I should’ve invited you over or asked if you wanted to see them more. I just… it’s been hard.”
“I know.”
“No.” He chuckles. “You don’t and that’s the problem. I’ve been in my own head thinking everyone else is moving on with their own lives while I’m stuck back here in my misery. I’m angry at life, so fucking angry sometimes I take it out on the people that have tried to be there for me.” He pauses so I take my shot as I wait for him to figure out what he wants to say. I don’t want to interrupt him in case he clamps up again. “I’m going to try and be better, I just need time.” At the look I give him, he says, “Yeah, I know I’ve had six years. But I mean some real time. Time to heal properly now my eyes have been opened to the way things have been. I know I can be happy again if I let myself.”
I smile and grasp him on the shoulder. “You don’t know how good it feels to hear those words, so don’t wimp out on me.”
He pushes me away, his eyes lighting up with laughter. “Fuck you.”
I laugh, knowing that’s his way of showing affection right now.
I can’t remember much from the time we finished playing pool—I won of course—to the time my work alarm screamed in my ear.
Drinking on a work night is not big, nor is it clever. But damn it was fun.
I stare down at the message Nate sent me, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip before I look up. Charlotte’s studio sits next to her house, the large window with dark woodwork letting the light into the reception area.
Going out on a second date feels like a big deal; especially as he’s cooking at his house for us. Coming into the city to see if Charlotte can help with an outfit was a spur of the moment thing, but now I’m here I’m second-guessing myself.
Maybe I should wear some of my normal clothes? Nate doesn’t seem to care what I look like or what I wear. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to feel good and look nice.
My hand reaches out, pushing the door open into the reception area. My small boot heels tap against the light wooden floor as I make my way around the large, black sofa, throw cushions scattered along it.
Coming to a stop at the white, streamlined desk, I tap the small bell sitting on top of it.
Sewing machines whir in the next room over and when I lean to the left to see through the door that sits ajar, I get a whiff of fig leaf and elderberry candle.
Heels tap, sounding closer before the door opens fully and Charlotte’s face appears.
“Amelia?” Her brows draw down into a frown. “Is everything okay? The kids? Tristan?”
My eyes widen. “Yeah, they’re all fine,” I rush out and her face relaxes before she takes another step toward me. “Apart from Tris’s hangover.” I smirk as I think back to this morning.
“Never again,” I hear Tris groan as he pushes through the kitchen door.
Turning around, I offer him a small smile, lifting my hands out of the soapy water, the suds dripping down my arm.
“Sore head?” I ask, knowing from the way he’s wincing from my voice and the sunlight that I’m right.
He shuffles across the floor, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and his t-shirt on inside out. Pulling out one of the kitchen chairs, he drops into it, laying his head on the table.
Wiping my hands dry, I open up the refrigerator and pull out a packet of bacon, placing a few rashers on the grill before whisking up some eggs.
With every small noise I make, Tris moans and groans.
“Self-inflicted,” I singsong.
He grunts in response as I turn the bacon over and scramble the eggs on the stove before plating them up and pouring him a glass of orange juice.
Placing them in front of him before patting his shoulder, I tell him, “Eat up, you’ll feel better after you have.”
