I shrugged. “Maybe that’s part of the appeal, the slight taboo of it. Or maybe it’s knowing you like what I’m doing, or celebrating my sexual side, not being ashamed of it.”
“You shouldn’t be ashamed. It’s beautiful,” he said into a kiss, then grinned against my lips. “You’re a good girl, Annie.”
“Well, you know you’re a good boy,” I teased.
I wanted to tell him more: that he made me feel cared for, that it wasn’t about his hands or his dick or his lips but more about him being the sweet guy he is, that I wished we didn’t have to keep our emotional distance.
Instead, I pulled him into a kiss, every stroke of my lips trying to make me forget that Nick was my client, that I shouldn’t be in his kitchen on a Sunday morning, that I shouldn’t be telling him how I feel or even having a feeling about it.
But care for each other is something friends exchange, right? I cared about Kitty, and Jessie, and everyone I’d left behind in Nashville.
Nick’s question as we broke the kiss brought me back to earth. “Did I pass, teacher?”
I patted his cheek as I said, “Yeah, bub. With flying colors.”
We were fulfilling physical needs. Nothing more.
But tell that to my hopeful heart crumbles.
Chapter 29
Annie
NOVEMBER | Balance: $49,382
It was Thanksgiving morning.
With my pie crust chilling in the fridge, I finally settled down to watch the parade on TV. As long as I kept busy, Thanksgiving didn't feel so daunting. It was only when I paused that the ache would creep in.
Some rustling came from the porch, with a clank of metal on metal. It was a holiday, so it shouldn’t have been the mailman. Then my doorbell rang. Nick was on the other side, squinting against the cloudless sky with Greg on a leash at his side.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Annie.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I said, looking him over for some sort of explanation. “What are you doing here?”
I crouched to pet Greg. “Hi, little turkey.”
“I came over to make pies with you.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Funny, I saw your name next to sweet potato casserole on the group spreadsheet.”
“That too. But I got up early and made that. I thought I could be a pie helper?” He held up a reusable grocery bag and the drink carrier. “Come on, Annie. I drove twenty minutes and brought coffee. Can we share an oven?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Come in,” I said, taking the drink carrier out of his hands. I took in his outfit: a thin forest green sweater that hugged his muscles perfectly and made his eyes stand out. I never thought I’d say khakis or chinos were hot, but he was making them work. “You look nice. I’m still in my bumming around clothes.”
His cheeks went pink. “Thanks. You look good in your bumming around clothes. Can I let Greg off the leash in here?”
“Oh, of course.” He bent to take off Greg’s leash and hooked it on the front door handle. Greg surveyed the room, deciding where to explore first. Nick and I went into the kitchen.
“I, uh, hope it’s a good surprise that I came over?”
I worked to remain in motion, stepping in front of him. “Oh, yeah. It’s great to see you two,” I said, briskly.
I didn’t meet his eyes as I unpacked the items from his bag. He tried to help me, but I was moving so fast that he couldn’t seem to get more than one handful out. There were store-bought pie crusts in there, and for whatever reason, that was the thing that slammed the brakes for me.
Mom would have never let me use store-bought. No matter how crumbly and crappy our pie crusts got, we persevered. It was a point of pride to see how much we could fudge it, trying not to give Uncle Stan a slice of pumpkin pie with a hole in the bottom.
I took a shaky inhale.
