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“I’m just not going to say a thing,” I told Panda, who didn’t stop cleaning himself, which was about the best I’d get in response.
I loved Jax, even if I couldn’t bring myself to say the words out loud, but I worried too much about the future and being there for family to think about myself.
“Stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself,” I warned, and this time, Panda glanced at me with an all-knowing stare, and I couldn’t help but snort a laugh. “Bet I wouldn’t have these issues if I were a cat,” I told the empty house.
Maybe someday, the answer to the question of whether I was in love would become clear, and maybe, on that day, I’d do something about how I was feeling.
Tell him and try to make something of what we could be.
Or not.
“Now what?” I asked.
I sat next to Panda, pulled out a sketch book, and spent an hour doodling ideas for a spice rack in the Bramham kitchen, which Jax had penciled in for February. I was happy to give him some ideas—creating beautiful, but functional spaces was what I was good at—but I wasn’t feeling work. I didn’t want to read, or watch television, even scrolling YouTube was a loss.
“I should go visit Jax. What do you think?” I asked Panda, who ignored me. “We don’t have to talk about what happened. I could just see if he needs anything, maybe I could take the crib over today, in a special visit, rather than wait until it’s just a work thing?”
Panda opened an eye and gave a long, sharp-toothed yawn, then padded to the kitchen, meowing with intent until I let him out to go back to his place. It was only four. I could make it to Jax’s with the crib, visit with Charlie, and be home in a couple of hours. Was I brave enough to go over there and face what we’d done? Was I brave enough to tell him I couldn’t start anything that wasn’t going to be forever? Maybe, if I focused on making Jax dinner, then we wouldn’t have to talk.
I don’t want to talk; I want another kiss. I want to throw him on a bed and kiss him from his nose to his thighs and right back up again.
Visiting Jax was the best idea ever.
This wasnotthe best idea ever.
Parking my truck next to Jax’s with its Byrne Construction logo was a stark reminder that he was my boss, and that, yes, we were friends—good friends—but what we’d shared had been mutual comfort and probably wouldn’t go any further. I’d asked why we’d waited so long, told him I’d thought it was just me.
But I’d still left.
Coward.
I turned off the engine, peered up at the house, but nothing indicated whether he was home or not, but I’d come all this way. I couldn’t chicken out now.
Hefting the heavy crib took all my strength before I got the balance of it, and I had to use my head to shut the trunk, which—ouch—but then, I headed up the path and the two small steps to the porch.
Fuck. No hands. I kicked the door a couple of times, and when no one answered, I used my nose on the doorbell, or at least I tried to use my nose, but all that happened was that I was bent awkwardly, scrunching up my face, and that was how Jax found me when he opened the door.
“Arlo,” he sounded surprised.
I bet he’d been counting on me avoiding him all weekend.
Things best avoided? Kissing and coming against each other as workmates and friends.
“I brought the crib over,” I explained.
He nodded. “So, I see.”
My arms strained to hold the weight of it, given I was off-balance after leaning into the doorbell.
“Do you still want it?” I asked, and yes, I sounded a little stressed—sue me.
“Of course. I’ll help you.” He took one end, and when I managed to balance myself, we took it inside as easy as anything, and straight up the stairs to his room. “He just woke up,” Jax whispered, indicating with a side nod toward the yawning bundle of cute who made abahnoise and batted at the Winnie the Pooh mobile above his head. He couldn’t reach it, but one day he’d turn over, then he’d be up on his knees, then he’d be able to get to it. Too soon.
“Hey, Charlie,” I said, and he turned his head and smiled up at us.
We maneuvered the crib to where Jax wanted it, having to move the temporary one a little to fit the wooden behemoth that was the Marshall family treasure into place. Jax scooped Charlie up and hugged him, wrinkling his nose and stepping toward the changing table he’d set up on an old bureau. I had this wild thought that I could make a changing station for him, with drawers, and doors, a new treasure that, maybe, he could hand down to his kids for their babies.
“You’ll need to get a mattress and bedding.”
