Sixteen
Natalia
I wasn’t the kind of woman who liked spending long periods of time lost in thought. Generally, I found that it did very little good for me.
But when I woke this morning with no need to hop out of bed the minute I opened my eyes, considering it was the holiday and I didn’t need to work, I gave myself the opportunity to have a slower morning.
I took the time in my bed to consider what life had been like for me lately—a whirlwind, to say the least.
Although I preferred not to think about it, I couldn’t exactly control the moments when my mind drifted to what had happened a week ago.
Ever since my ex found me at the lake and assaulted me, I’d had days I closed my eyes and saw his sinister expression or heard his menacing voice.
In rare instances, l recalled how it felt when his fists connected with my body.
And after so many years of healing and getting to a place where it rarely ever crossed my mind, I hated that it was back, messing with my head.
Sadly, with the recent attack, I found it was unavoidable. Even this morning.
Fortunately, it didn’t take as long today as it usually did for the thoughts to filter out of my brain and be replaced by something much more pleasant, something that put a smile on my face and made me feel warm inside.
Reid Erickson.
Thoughts of what the last week, particularly the last few days—since Sunday—had been like. Reid wasn’t just being nice and friendly with me each day. Truthfully, that would have been more than enough for me.
But I got that and so much more.
Reid had been curious, interested, and attentive.
He was asking more questions—both about the retreat and me—than he ever had.
He sought me out instead of waiting for me to show up in his office on some work-related issue.
And his reason for stopping by wasn’t always about work.
He’d come to my office just to ask how I’d slept the night before, if I still felt as though I was healing okay.
It was possible that his reason for doing so was the guilt he felt over the situation weighing heavily on him.
While I believed that could be a big part of it, I didn’t think it was the only thing motivating him.
And if I was honest with myself, experiencing this new side to him was enough to make me yearn for something I hadn’t yearned for in a very long time. Something I didn’t think I’d want ever again.
I spent substantially more time in my bed this morning thinking about that, about Reid and all that he was making me feel.
As good as it felt, there was a small part of me that wished I could make it stop.
Because while it was clear Reid was doing his best to make amends for how he’d treated me the first few weeks he’d been here, I wasn’t convinced there was anything more behind it.
The last thing I needed to do was get my hopes up over something like this that wasn’t ever going to happen.
It was with that thought that I finally got myself out of bed. I went about my morning routine, grabbing a light breakfast and getting myself dressed for the day.
And my mindset had shifted completely at that point. The only thoughts consuming my mind were about the day ahead of me—painting pottery followed by a delicious holiday lunch. I couldn’t wait.
I walked to my front door, opened it, and immediately jumped back with a shout. Reid was there, leaning against the railing at the edge of the porch, and he was wearing the most radiant smile.
“What are you doing here?”
Maybe it was the fact my heart was still racing from being startled like I had been by him, but my words came out a bit harsher than they likely would have in any other scenario.
“So, I was wondering…” He lifted his hand to show me what he’d brought with him. “Are we supposed to bring our own paintbrushes with us to this pottery thing?”
My eyes darted between the two brushes in his hand and the joyful expression on his face. Still so stunned, my lips parted and closed several times as I tried to wrap my head around what was happening. Did Reid intend to go painting with me this morning?
When I remained silent for far too long, he pushed off the railing he’d been leaning his hips against and walked toward me. “I was thinking I’d like to spend the day with you today, Natalia. Would you like to spend your day with me?”
I licked my lips, doing my best not to let it show just how much I enjoyed the sound of his voice, especially when he said my name. “But I… I’m going to paint pottery and have lunch with the guests.”
His eyes dropped briefly to my lips before he nodded his understanding. “Yeah, I know. And I’d like to join you, if that’s okay.”
“It is, but what about Barrett and Sylvia?”
“What about them?”
Did he really need me to answer that? I thought it was obvious. Sweeping my hand out, palm up, I explained, “It’s Thanksgiving. Aren’t they expecting you to spend the holiday with them?”
“If my mom hadn’t had a heart attack and broken her hip, it’s likely I’d still be in Pittsburgh right now,” he shared. “I probably wouldn’t have come back here until Christmas. Anyway, now that I’m here, I told them I’d stop over for dinner. I was hoping you’d come along.”
I blinked in surprise. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Why?”
I would not cry. I would not cry. I would not cry.
I shook my head, swallowing roughly, and waved my hand in the air. “No reason. I… I’d love to join you. I can bring some of my caramel apple cookies I made.”
He smiled. “You don’t need to bring anything, but caramel apple cookies sound delicious.”
“My mom used to make them every year for Thanksgiving when I was younger, and I’m so glad I still have that recipe, because these cookies are my favorite.”
Reid’s features softened as he reached out a hand and curled his fingers around the outer cap of my shoulder. “Happy Thanksgiving, Natalia.”
My throat grew painfully tight at the tenderness in his touch and warmth in his expression. “Happy Thanksgiving, Reid.”
He dropped his hand from my shoulder and asked, “Are you ready to go?”
I nodded. “I am.”
Reid jerked his head to the side. “Lock up, and we can walk over together.”
Refusing to waste another minute, I did as he suggested.
I locked up, and we left. And the next thing I knew, we were browsing through our options for pottery pieces.
If Reid hadn’t shown up on my doorstep this morning, I likely would have just picked a pretty bowl to fill with fruit and painted it.
But now I wanted it to be a bit more special than that.
This felt like an occasion to commemorate, and I didn’t want to rush myself in making a decision.
There were a few unique pieces—decorative pumpkins or leaf-shaped snack dishes—that certainly fit the bill for me when it came to how festive things typically got for me at the holidays.
It was one of those that I could have seen myself picking up to paint.
But then something caught my eye.
Plates.
Whenever we hosted a pottery painting event here, I always went with something that didn’t feel wrong to have on its own.
Holiday plates shouldn’t be singular. But now that I had Reid here with me, even as just a friend, I thought it might be okay to get two plates to remember this year as the year I didn’t have to spend the holiday alone.
I selected two dinner plates, noted the two mugs that Reid had chosen, and felt my heart skip a beat when he smiled at me.
After we found a table, laid out some paint colors, and got started, Reid asked, “Is this a tradition for you?”
“Painting on Thanksgiving?”
“Well, I guess that’s part of it. I was just wondering if you always picked plates.”
I shook my head. “This is my first year with the plates.”
“But you’ve done the painting before, right?”
“I have.”
Reid dipped his brush in some paint and asked, “So, are your painting skills like your driving skills?”
I pressed my lips together to stifle the laughter. I loved that he was finding ways to keep this fun. “Well, I’m no Picasso, but I’d like to think my creative talents far exceed my abilities behind the wheel.”
Laughter escaped. “Alright, well, it’s good to have balance.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“What about me?”
“Have you ever painted pottery before?”
He looked over at me and cocked a brow. “Do I seem like the type?”
I shrugged, my lips twitching. “Maybe.”
Reid rolled his eyes. “I bet. For the record, you’re the only woman who’d ever be able to make me wake up this early on a holiday to do something like this.”
Suddenly, it was my turn to assess him. He made it seem as though I was the one who’d asked him to join me this morning when I hadn’t even considered it a possibility.
“To be clear, you’re the one who showed up on my steps without an invitation this morning,” I reminded him.
“I’m well aware.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
For several long moments, Reid didn’t respond.
He continued painting his mug, his features focused as he seemed to be concentrating on what he was doing.
But eventually, he said, “Sometimes, as much as we want to believe otherwise, we can’t control everything.
Other factors and emotions come into play, and we need to venture down paths we never thought we would. ”
While I could understand the concept on a surface level—those words were quite fitting for my life—I wasn’t sure I knew what it meant in the context of Reid’s life and how it pertained to him spending Thanksgiving morning with me.
I suspected that if Reid wanted to make something abundantly clear to me, he would have spelled it out. So, I wasn’t going to push him on it.
Following a brief silence, I murmured, “For what it’s worth, Reid, I’m glad you were there when I opened my door this morning.”
He stopped painting, looked over at me, and smiled.