Chapter 21
Caleb
Ican’t remember the last time I felt this nervous.
Sam is in the backseat, chatting about what kind of snacks he hopes Benji’s mom has. I’m nodding along, but my brain is off doing its own thing. Because, yep, we’re going to Tess’s house—Nash’s ex-wife—so I can meet her, and Sam can sleep over with Benji and Emma.
This definitely wasn’t on my bingo card for this week, but Nash suggested that since Emma and Benji would be with her tonight, Sam should join for a sleepover while we go to his company Christmas party.
He said he had already run it by her, and she was “cool with it.” I hate to admit I’m struggling to comprehend how they’re this cool with each other, that it’s not a big deal that I’m dropping my son off at my maybe-boyfriend’s ex-wife’s house for a sleepover.
At that point, I couldn’t help myself; I had to ask Nash point-blank why they got divorced if they still get along so well.
He said they got married right after college and eventually realized what they had wasn’t romantic love anymore.
That they cared about each other, but more in a friend way than an “I can’t live without you” way, and that ultimately, they decided they each deserved more.
It sounded like a completely amicable decision.
“We respected each other enough to let go so we could each figure out who we really were,” he told me.
I’ve been turning that over in my head since he said it because that kind of mutual, communicative, and understanding ending is so far from how my marriage ended.
With my ex, it was passive-aggressive silences and hateful words.
It was losing little pieces of myself over time until she decided she was done with me.
She walked away, leaving me feeling confused and convinced that something was wrong with me.
It still breaks my heart for Sam’s sake.
Hating me is one thing, I can live with it, but to abandon Sam?
I didn’t understand that and never have. He deserves so much better.
I’m glad Nash and his kids didn’t have to deal with that, and that he has someone so supportive, even after their divorce. Someone who gave him the freedom to further explore himself without shaming him.
We pull up at the address Nash sent me. It’s a white house with brick around the door and a covered porch. It’s a standard Denver house, and the normalcy makes me feel slightly better.
Sam unbuckles and opens the car door excitedly, running up the porch while I quickly text Nash that we’re here.
“Can I ring the doorbell?” Sam asks, looking back at me.
“Go for it.” I force a smile and try to channel even a fraction of his excited energy, but all I feel is anxious. I walk up to the porch with my hands jammed into my coat pockets, silently praying this won’t be weird.
A moment later, the door opens, and Tess is standing there.
Her brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail.
She’s wearing glasses, leggings, and a sweatshirt, and she’s beautiful.
Nash steps behind her, and my stomach instinctively sinks at the look of the two of them together.
They look… great. They look like they’re meant to be together.
But I know that’s just my own insecurities playing tricks on me.
“Hey, you must be Sam,” Tess says warmly. “Come on in, the kids are playing in the living room.”
Sam gives her a polite “Hi, thanks” before kicking off his shoes and sprinting toward the sound of Emma and Benji’s voices somewhere in the back of the house.
Meanwhile, I hang back awkwardly on the porch.
“Hey, Tess,” I say, awkwardly sticking out my hand to her.
She chuckles and shakes it. “You must be Caleb. It’s nice to finally meet you and not just hear your name in stories. You’ve really got this one down bad,” she jokes, nodding her head in Nash’s direction.
“What can I say? He’s great. And so handsome, just look at him,” Nash compliments, like I’m not standing right here, and my face feels like it’s on fire.
“See what I mean? Down bad,” Tess jokes. “Want to come in? Have a drink before you guys head out?”
“Sure, that sounds good,” I answer, stepping into the house as Tess turns and walks down the hall toward what I assume is the kitchen.
“It’s all going to be okay,” Nash whispers as he pulls me in for a hug and gives me a quick kiss.
I smile, kick my shoes off, put Sam’s bag by the door, and follow Tess and Nash into the house.
“I should’ve clarified; I don’t have anything alcoholic, but I do have some sparkling water.”
“That’s perfect, thanks.”
Nash sits at the dining table, so I take his lead and do the same.
Tess moves around the kitchen, grabbing a glass and pulling a can from the fridge.
“Here you go,” she says, sliding the drink on the table.
“Thanks.” I take it, noticing how relaxed Nash looks in her kitchen.
Tess sits across from me, and for a second, it hits me how strange this all is. Yet, somehow, it feels good knowing that she really does seem to support us.
“You okay?” Nash leans toward me slightly, voice low.
“Yeah,” I say quickly.
I look around the room, taking it all in. Family photos line the wall, a mix of kid drawings and vacation snapshots. Nash is in a couple, and I try not to feel weird about it because I do trust him.
“How’s work been?” Tess asks Nash, pulling my attention back to the table.
He shrugs. “Busy, but manageable. End-of-year stuff.”
“Are you excited to meet his coworkers?” she asks me.
“Yeah, a bit nervous about that too. But probably not as nervous as I was to come here, honestly,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh.
“But you did it, and now you never have to meet me for the first time again.” She laughs, and I’m relieved I didn’t make it weird between us.
“I can’t believe you two still get along so well. When Nash told me, I was shocked,” I admit.
“Well, he was my best friend as soon as we met, but that didn’t give either of us time to figure out who we are on our own.
We realized we always did act more like best friends than romantic partners, which is why it’s so good to see Nash this happy.
I’m glad he met you,” she says easily with no undertone of jealousy or spite.
“Thanks,” I say before Nash can speak. “I really appreciate that.”
Tess gives a small, understanding nod, and we talk for a bit longer before I say goodbye to Sam so we can head to the Christmas party.
“Call me if you need anything at all, okay, bud?” I instruct as I hug him.
“Okay, bye, Dad!” he rushes out, pulling away before I’m ready.
“Have fun, and be good for your mom,” Nash tells the kids before we both turn and walk out the door.
I lied. I might be equally as nervous about this Christmas party.
The hotel comes into view, and it feels like my heart is trying to climb out of my chest. The building is modern and tall, all sleek glass and warm lights glowing against the winter night. My palms are already damp, so I rub them against the fabric of my slacks, trying to steady myself.
Beside me, Nash leans in and presses a soft kiss to my cheek at the red light before we turn into the parking lot, like he can sense the shift in my breathing.
“This’ll go great,” he says quietly, and I believe that he believes that. Meeting Tess was one thing, but now that we’re here, I think I underestimated how big of a deal this will be too.
When he shifts the car into park, I hesitate. My hand hovers over the seatbelt buckle as I stare out the windshield. I can feel the question rising in my throat, and I blurt it out before I lose my nerve.
“Hey, Nash, uh…” My voice wobbles, so I clear it and try again. “What should I say if someone asks who you are to me?”
The question hangs between us, and I feel ridiculous for asking it in my mid-thirties, but it’s been gnawing at me since he invited me to this party.
I’ve run through the scenario in my head a hundred times: Nash getting pulled into a conversation while I linger nearby, some colleague wandering over, asking who I am and what I’m doing there.
I feel lost over such a simple question, fumbling, trying not to say the wrong thing.
I don’t know what Nash’s coworkers know about him outside of work, or if he’s out at work.
And I don’t want to say something that catches him off guard or unintentionally outs him.
Nash’s eyebrows lift, then soften with understanding.
“Oh, baby,” he soothes. “Is that why you’ve been so tense? I thought it was about leaving Sam with Tess for the night.”
I exhale a quiet laugh. “No, I think that went well, and he’ll be just fine.”
“You can tell people I’m your partner. Or your boyfriend,” he adds in a warm tone. “If you’re more comfortable with that.”
I blink at him as the b-word echoes in my head. “You want to be my boyfriend?”
Nash smiles so softly, and sure, and him.
“I’d be honored to be your boyfriend,” he assures me. “If you’ll have me.”
I’m stunned silent for half a second, then I nod, a slow grin spreading across my face. “Yeah. I want that.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that, Cay.” He winks.
We climb out of the car, and the night air hits my face.
Nash rounds the front of the car and meets me on the passenger side.
He cups my face with both hands, the heat of him a stark contrast to the winter air.
He leans forward and kisses me, respectfully, of course, since we’re at his company work party.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead lightly against mine.
“Come on, boyfriend,” he murmurs, threading his fingers through mine.
And just like that, the weight in my chest eases as we walk hand in hand toward the hotel entrance together.
The night is dark and cold, snow is lightly falling from the sky, and it feels like the perfect night with the kind of magic only December can bring.
Inside, the lobby glows with soft lighting and garlands wrapped around banisters. A towering tree stands near the front desk, decked out in white lights and matching, themed ornaments.
Nash pulls me up to the counter with him while he slides his card across to the concierge and checks us in. They hand us two key cards and promise our bags will be sent up to the room shortly.
Once we’ve checked in, Nash leans close again, lips brushing my temple. “Ready?”
I exhale and nod. “Let’s do it.”
He holds my hand as he walks us to the Elkwood Ballroom.
It’s clear Nash wasn’t exaggerating about the fact that his company goes all out for their holiday party.
People in sleek suits and cocktail dresses mingle near multiple fully stocked bars as waitstaff weave through the crowd with trays of champagne and bite-sized hors d’oeuvres.
Nash gives my hand a quick squeeze as we walk in. “Still good?”
“Barely,” I mutter. “This is amazing.”
He chuckles softly, and before I can soak in another second, a man in a navy suit spots him from across the room and makes a beeline over.
“Nash!” the guy says, clapping him hard on the back. “Hey, man!” Then his eyes flick to me. “Hey, I’m Marshall,” he says, reaching to shake my hand.
“Caleb. Nice to meet you,” I respond, shaking his hand.
“You here with this guy?” he asks, clearly trying to place me.
“Guilty,” I say with a shy smile, unsure how this conversation will go.
But it’s… fine. Easy, even. We chat for a few minutes before even more people approach Nash, and introductions blur.
There’s a guy dressed like an elf who I’m told does HR.
Emily, the support director, raises a brow and breaks into a big smile when Nash introduces me as his boyfriend.
Nash is relaxed and charming around his coworkers, and it’s helping me be more comfortable too—especially since this is my first time out in public with a man. With my boyfriend.
Being at my boyfriend’s work holiday party feels overwhelming in a good way, because I still can’t believe this is my reality. It’s going to take some time for me to comprehend that this is real, and we’re actually dating.
Eventually, Nash pulls us toward a quieter corner with two flutes of champagne. “Surviving?”
“Yeah, just don’t expect me to remember anyone’s name,” I huff out with a laugh.
“Of course not.” He chuckles, leaning in closer now with his hand on my tie. “You look good, by the way.”
I glance down at my dark green tie, then back up at him. “You just like that I’m wearing something you can tug on.”
He smirks. “You’re not wrong, baby.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.
He nudges his shoulder against mine. “Thanks again for coming. This was so much better with you here.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” I whisper, eagerly awaiting the part where we can go upstairs.
Before I can respond, someone calls out his name and waves him over. He groans quietly. “Ready?” he asks, lacing our fingers together.
“Lead the way.”