Chapter 8
SADIE
I push the Add a Minute button on the microwave and stare blankly ahead at the rotating dish.
The breakroom door opens, and Nash smiles when he sees me.
“You’re back.”
I recognize the glow of happiness behind his expression because that’s how I feel about seeing him again.
“My flight got in late last night.”
He walks over to the counter, leaning his hip against it. “How are you feeling? I know it’s a stupid question, but are you doing okay?”
Nash is a safe place for my grief. I learned that two weeks ago, when he showed up unannounced at Tate’s funeral.
“I started bawling last night when I walked into my apartment and saw the framed pictures I have of me and Tate. That led to me crying myself to sleep and waking up this morning with a massive headache. But I’m here.”
“With a homemade lunch, even.” He nods at the moving microwave. “Impressive.”
“I wouldn’t call it homemade, but it is a comfort food.”
“Oh, yeah? What food is comforting you today?”
My mouth spreads into a goofy smile. “Spaghetti-Os. I had a strange urge to eat them today.”
“You must really love your Spaghetti-Os.” His eyes drop to my mouth. “Look at that smile.”
“Who says my smile is all about questionable noodles? Maybe I’m just happy to see you.”
“I don’t believe that for one second.”
Our eyes lock on each other, and my stomach does the thing it’s not supposed to do when I’m with him. His gaze slowly moves around my face, almost like he’s soaking in every inch of my skin. I allow myself one brief second to do the same. His stubble is longer today. He’s probably due for a shave tonight or tomorrow morning, but I like the look of this length. I imagine the coarseness under the palm of my hand and?—
The microwave beeps, a long and loud noise that makes me jump. I busy myself with my food as Nash moves around me to the refrigerator.
I’m in trouble.
I just daydreamed about his stubble.
It’s not that I don’t love Stetson, because I do. Things are just difficult between us right now. We spent the majority of the last two weeks in Skaneateles fighting. He kept pressuring me to forgive my parents or to give up my internship, and I kept pushing back.
I’m seeing first-hand what happens when there are cracks in a relationship. You fill them with other things, like daydreaming about what it would feel like to run your fingers across your boss’s stubble.
Maybe it’s because Nash making an effort to come to the funeral when he didn’t have to is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me, and I can’t seem to get the image of him wiping his tears off his cheeks at the back of the church out of my mind. The fact that he’d cry for me—or my pain—moved me on a deeper level than anything else ever has.
These are normal thoughts, right?
Like, I’m not a bad person for feeling a connection with Nash or for being attracted to him—as long as things end there, which obviously they will. I’m not a cheater or anything close to it, even if technically I’m single. Stetson and I will make it through this rough patch, and we’ll come out stronger than ever.
That’s what I keep telling myself.
“While you were gone, we decided to take on the Serenity Care account,” Nash says as he pops open a Dr. Pepper.
“That was my account. I’m sorry I dropped the ball on it.” I sit at one of the tables and stir my Spaghetti-Os.
“You didn’t drop the ball. You were gone on bereavement.”
“I know. I just hate not pulling my weight and dumping things on others. I haven’t been the all-star intern that any of us thought I would be. I feel like I’m barely contributing. I’m sure you’re regretting your choice.”
“Definitely not. I don’t care about how much you contribute. I care about you.” The realization of what he just said and how bad it sounds has him backpedaling hard . “I mean, I care about you as an employee , and I want to make sure you’re thriving and learning as much as you can while you’re here.”
“I’m worried I won’t be able to do the one thing you ask of your interns: pinpoint a weakness in your company, and come up with an idea to elevate it.”
“Out of hundreds of applicants, why do you think I chose you for the internship?”
“I don’t know.”
“When I called you for the interview, you had this arrogance about you that I liked.”
“Arrogance?” My eyes widen. “Are you sure you’re talking about the right person?”
“One hundred percent.” He smiles confidently. “You had this belief that you were going to change the healthcare industry. It might’ve been naive, but I liked it. Your passion was exciting, and I thought, ‘This woman will keep clawing and fighting until she does something amazing.’ That’s someone I want on my team.”
His words stun me. They funnel to the places in my mind where self-doubt and insecurities live, swallowing them up whole and replacing them with his praise.
“Sadie, I know I’ve said this before, but you have a ton of potential—probably the most I’ve ever seen from an intern. You just need to believe it too.”
For years, I’ve been trying to prove to myself, to my dad, and maybe a little to Stetson what I’m capable of, and in a matter of two months, Nash sees everything I’ve been working so hard to convey.
I incline my head, narrowing my eyes on him. “You know, in a lot of ways, you remind me of Tate.”
Nash’s eyes light in surprise. “ I remind you of your brother?”
“Yeah, I don’t know why I didn’t see it until now, but you have a lot of the same qualities about you. A fun-loving personality, an ability to make everyone around you comfortable, and a cockiness that is somehow endearing, not annoying.” His lips lift with that one. “But beyond that, Tate believed in me more than anyone else. He never saw where I was at right then. He only saw what I could become. He never let me forget who I wanted to be and where I wanted to end up. I feel like you’re the same way. You have this absolute belief in me.”
“Uh…” He starts to speak, but the sound comes out gritty, as if what I said meant something to him. He clears his throat, erasing all evidence, and then flips into business mode. “That’s what this internship is about, helping you achieve your goals.”
I wish we could go back to two seconds ago when the conversation was real. But real conversations lead to real feelings, so I get why Nash has turned into my boss again.
My phone buzzes beside me on the table, and I glance at the screen, seeing Mom written in bold black letters.
Everything tightens inside me. “It’s my mom.”
“I’ll leave so you can have some privacy.” He walks to the door, throwing me a small smile over his shoulder—what a glorious thing. “I’m glad you’re back, Sadie.”
“Me too.” I wait until he’s gone before reading the text message.
Mom
Sadie, I know you’re angry with us, but it's been over a week since we’ve talked, and you haven’t returned any of our calls. Don’t you think it’s time we sorted all of this out?
My eyes prick with tears just thinking about my dad throwing Tate out of their house once he found out about his addiction. What kind of parent would do that?
He died alone on his friend's couch the very next day—totally preventable.
I turn my phone face down on the table and push it away.
No, I don’t think it’s time I talked to my parents.
I tried a day or two after the funeral, and it just didn’t work out. Tensions were too high. None of us could adequately express our feelings and frustrations without hurting someone else. We’re not communicating well.
At this point, avoiding the problem with my parents is easier than fixing it.
Maybe time will smooth out the rough edges and hurt feelings. Right now, my grief is too raw.