Roxie
The air, crisp with the bite of early December, made my breath puff like smoke and my ungloved fingers throb with cold.
Nate and I walked side by side down Eighth Avenue, our coats brushing every few steps.
He was talking about a real-estate venture his family was working on—some big deal they’d closed that week that would give them sole responsibility for selling all the units in a newly finished high rise in the city—but my mind was having a hard time wanting to stay interested.
I nodded when he glanced at me, offering a smile that felt polite more than genuine.
Every word out of his mouth was polished, like he’d practiced it in the mirror.
He had the confidence that filled the silence before it settled.
Hallie had told me I needed someone steady.
But steady was feeling a lot like … boring.
True to his word, Nate had reached out a few days after we’d met at Whiskey Locker.
I’d nearly forgotten I’d given my number to him as I’d tried to block out most of that day, if only to protect my heart from the memories in the bathroom.
So, when I received his first text, asking me out to dinner, I’d made the excuse that I needed some time to get the business up and running.
It wasn’t a complete lie. But once I finally agreed to see him, the first date had turned into two, and then three, and now four.
I’d kept telling myself to keep giving him a chance and that maybe I’d feel a spark.
And yet, here I was. On a proper date. The sort of date normal people had all the time. Giving it a fourth chance.
So why do you still feel so wholeheartedly unexcited about it, Rox?
The thought had bounced around in my head the entire afternoon as we’d strolled through the art district in the West Village before venturing into the city to look at some of the real estate projects that Nate was working on.
I hadn’t expected to feel so completely inept after Sebastian Whittaker steamrolled back through my life.
We stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Across the street, scaffolding covered a building, which had fresh paint on the brick facade and a banner strung across the entryway.
FUTURE HOME OF EAST SIDE FOOD BANK
My steps faltered. “Oh,” I breathed, pulling my coat tighter against the chill.
Nate followed my line of sight. “Ah. That one.” He tugged his gloves tighter at the wrist, like the building had personally offended him. “We put in a bid for it. Got passed over.”
I glanced back at him, brows rising. “Really?”
“Mm.” His mouth flattened. “Shame, honestly. The location’s prime.
Could’ve been a great spot for something more elevated.
A private club, maybe. Or a Michelin-starred restaurant.
” He gestured vaguely toward the facade, where volunteers were coming and going with boxes. “Instead, it’s just … a food bank.”
Just.
The word lodged like grit beneath my skin.
“Right,” I said, forcing my tone to stay even, though it tasted bitter on my tongue.
Nate kept talking, rattling off square footage and potential resale value, but his words blurred against the wind.
I looked again at the banner, the bold letters flapping in the wintry breeze.
Just a food bank. I thought about mine and Hallie’s website, of the stories we wanted to collect like jewels—highlight parts of the city that would show its heart in the unlikeliest places.
I pictured the families that would enter those doors, their lives forever changed by this new space.
The light turned green. Nate started forward, and after a beat, I followed. My steps felt heavier than before, like the city itself had turned into a reminder that I was trying too hard to live someone else’s version of normal.
Beside me, Nate launched into another anecdote about a developer dinner at The Social Eatery, all polished charm and surface sheen. I nodded when he looked at me, but something had shifted. The cold in the air wasn’t just in my fingers anymore—it was in my chest.
We cut across the street, and Nate steered us toward Central Park. The faint smell of roasted chestnuts wafted over from a cart nearby, and every gust of wind slipped beneath my coat, reminding me how unprepared I’d been in leaving my gloves at home.
“Hot chocolate?” Nate asked, nodding toward a vendor at one of the park’s many entrances. He smiled as if it were a casual offer, but it had the same practiced charm as every other move he’d made today. Still, warmth sounded too good to pass up.
“Sure.”
He ordered for us both without asking what I wanted—whipped cream for me, none for him—before pressing a steaming paper cup into my hands. I held it like a lifeline, letting the heat steep into my raw fingers.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I fished it out, thumb swiping the screen before I could think better of it.
There was a text from my mother. Which meant only one thing—she needed something.
Mother:
Don’t forget about the Christmas Eve party, sweetheart. You’ll be there this year. And bring a date. Everyone will expect to see you … on your best behavior.
My chest tightened, the same familiar squeeze it always did when her texts came with expectations hidden between the punctuation marks.
A date. She wanted proof that I wasn’t the family disappointment who had traded a trust fund for a cramped apartment and a stack of bills.
I needed to show up and play the part to not embarrass her.
“Are you okay?” Nate asked, sipping his drink.
“Yeah.” I forced a smile and tucked my phone back into my coat pocket. The words left my mouth before I could reel them in. “Would you want to come with me? To my family’s Christmas Eve party in Greenwich?”
His eyebrows lifted in mild surprise before his grin returned, polished and pleased. I hadn’t mentioned my upbringing, but anyone with a brain knew that if someone came from Greenwich, the odds were that they came from money. “Of course. Sounds fun. Black tie?”
“Always.” I tried to match his enthusiasm, but inside, my stomach twisted.
He was the perfect person to invite along with me, everything that my mother would expect from one of my dates—a well-off family, polite, knows the workings of higher society, and brings a pretty enough image for the family to make use of.
But the idea of forcing a smile and playing along made me hope that the liquor cabinet would be well-stocked that evening.
I had only attended my family’s Christmas Eve parties sparingly over the past decade and never had I brought a date with me.
Which was probably why my mother was putting her foot down this year.
She didn’t want the women at the country club to speculate that I would end up a spinster with fifteen cats at the ripe age of twenty-seven, nearly twenty-eight.
I let my mind imagine what it would be like if Sebastian were my date instead.
The way he’d look in a tux, all sharp lines and green eyes that could strip me down to the bone without even trying.
I remembered years of those parties—the quiet way he’d slip out to the terrace with me, sharing a cigarette we didn’t even inhale, laughing at the absurdity of the gilded room inside.
Those were the only times I’d ever enjoyed the holiday parties my family threw.
And now, instead of that boy who would make me laugh about the smallest things to make the evening better, I had Nate. Smiling too wide, talking too much, sipping his hot chocolate without leaving room for silence. He was … fine. A good date. A safe choice.
So why did every second beside him feel like standing in a knock-off gallery when I’d already seen the original masterpiece?
Maybe that was because I could never have the original.
I’d flown too close to the sun and now I was facing what reality would look like for myself.
The safe choice. The one that wouldn’t break my heart into a million pieces.
My very own Mr. Perfectly Fine. Trust Taylor to tell the story of my life through her lyrics for the millionth time.
Nate adjusted his scarf as we strolled further into the park, his voice carrying on about some large mansion in Connecticut he was interested in seeing and that maybe he might just venture into that market as well, seeing as my family was from there after all.
The words skimmed the surface of my mind without sinking in, my thoughts looping back to my mother’s text.
On your best behavior.
I could already hear the champagne glasses clinking, the polite laughter, the way eyes would cut toward me and linger a beat too long, cataloging, comparing. They’d look at Nate and nod approvingly. Safe. Steady. Polished.
The words kept echoing in my mind.
I sipped my hot chocolate, sweet and cloying, wishing for something sharper, something real.
Sebastian would never fit into that mold.
He’d crack it open just to see what fell out.
He’d lean close at those parties, his lips brushing my ear with some wicked remark about the mayor’s toupee or the ostentatious flower arrangements that cost more than most people’s rent.
He’d steal me away to the terrace, just like he did when we were kids.
But instead of sharing an unlit cigarette, he’d press his hand into the small of my back as the cold stung our cheeks.
Giving me warmth simply with his nearness.
With him, I never felt on display. I felt … seen.
The ache of the fictional image pulled at me until I forced myself back to the present, where Nate was still going on about the market value of homes in Greenwich. He just wasn’t him.
I nodded at the right moments, smiled when I was supposed to. But the truth sat heavy in my chest. Even though I’d run far away from the life my family wanted for me, the universe had fulfilled the prophecy.
We turned down one of the quieter paths in the park.
The trees stripped bare against the pale evening sky.
The city lights glowed in the distance, blurred halos against the oncoming dark.
Nate slowed beside me, his hand brushing against mine.
It was deliberate, not accidental—he left it there, waiting.
I glanced down at the space between us; the way his gloved fingers tilted toward mine. A small part of me wanted to take it, to lean into the simplicity. To let myself believe that this could be enough.
But the part of me that remembered heat and recklessness, the part that remembered green eyes and the way my name sounded like worship when whispered against my skin—that part shrank back.
I shifted my cup, busying myself with another sip of hot chocolate. “Thanks for this evening,” I said, my voice a little too bright, a little too careful.
Nate smiled, clearly pleased. “Of course. You could come back to my place for a drink.” He angled closer, his stride slowing until we came to a stop beneath a lamppost that buzzed faintly above us.
His gaze dipped toward my mouth, polite hesitation giving way to confidence. “If you want to, that is.”
My heart stuttered. This was the moment—one I knew was coming.
The first kiss with the man who was good for me. The kiss my friends would tell me to lean into. The kiss my mother would approve of instantly, if only because it looked right.
Nate leaned in, lips brushing mine with a practiced gentleness. It was … fine. Warm, sweet, neat.
I let it linger, just long enough to prove to myself that I could do this. To give it some time for the butterflies to flutter in my stomach or flames to lick at my core. I kissed him as expected, because refusing meant admitting my pain wouldn’t be fixed by him.
When he pulled back, his grin was wide, satisfied. “You taste like whipped cream.”
I laughed softly, the sound brittle even to my own ears. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”
He chuckled, tucking his hands into his pockets, utterly at ease. He didn’t notice the stiffness in my smile, or the way my gaze kept flickering past his shoulder, into the darkness of the park instead of toward him. I felt like something had sucked all the air out of my chest.
I could see it so vividly—the version of my life that this kiss represented. Dinner parties and holiday galas, polite conversations, nods of approval from people who’d never once truly seen me.
And yet all I could think of was the other life I had always wanted.
The one with the color and excitement of the city.
Where I chased after my dream career and achieved it.
I’d never thought that version would include a man with green eyes.
I always thought he was part of the past, of what I had been running away from.
Nate shifted closer, voice smooth. “So … a night cap?”
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. I knew what came next if I said yes. The polite unfolding of the script in its entirety. And God, I wanted so badly for it to feel right. To feel enough.
It would be so easy.
But it didn’t.
I stepped back, letting the space open between us. “Actually, I should get home. Early morning tomorrow. Hallie and I have a new restaurant we are due at for breakfast.”
He dipped his head, not a hint of disappointment on his face. “Of course. Rain check.”
We walked back to the city streets, the lamplight stretching long shadows over the pavement. My hot chocolate had gone cold in my hands, almost untouched.
When we reached the corner, Nate hailed a cab, and kissed me again before holding the door open for me. I slid inside, offering him one last smile that felt paper thin.
As the cab pulled away, I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching his figure shrink in the side mirror. The city blurred around me, its noise fading as tears welled in my eyes.
This was what was supposed to be right.
So why did it feel like I was making the biggest mistake of my life?