But I kinda saved his life in yoga class, so that has to count for something, right?
4
Nash
Well, that was embarrassing. Going to the cottage and making small talk with my former in-laws would be less awkward than nearly fainting in front of my IT guy.
My hot-as-shit IT guy. Jesus, he was beautiful today. I’ve always thought Brady was kind of cute, in that fluffy casual way that millennials all seem to have. He likes to wear skinny button-down shirts in pastel colours with bananas and dachshunds—not together—on them.
Today, though. I was so glad I was ahead of him, because it meant I only got to see him on the odd time we turned around. But in his loose tank, with his tanned skin glistening with sweat and his whole body curving gracefully—even when he was crouched on the floor—he was nearly impossible to ignore.
I haven’t been especially attracted to anyone besides Dominic in a long time. Not with all the work it’s taken to get the festival off the ground and all the effort that went into adopting the boys and then being dads to them. Not when Dominic said he didn’t love me anymore. But Brady...
As he’s kneeling next to me, asking me if I’m okay and looking up at me with those big brown eyes, part of me is pretty sure I’m dying, while another part of me is thinking, if I survive, I’d like to see him on his knees again sometime, looking up at me while he asks if everything is okay. And it would be. Because he’s perfect, with his long lashes and soft lower lip and—
I haven’t wanted anyone in a long time, but maybe in this moment, I want Brady.
If I could, I would run all the way back to my apartment, but my body still hurts. So my progress is more a shuffle as I desperately suck down the rest of my water. The water Brady poured for me as he took care of me.
Gratitude. I’m feeling gratitude, not attraction. I’ve been adrift since the divorce. Maybe lonelier than I want to admit. After the final months of fights and cold shoulders, I don’t really miss Dominic per se, but I miss lying in bed at night, talking with him about the boys and school, about where they’re struggling and how we can make it easier for them. Being adopted twins with two gay dads is not the easiest way to blend in. And I miss running problems at the festival by Dominic and getting his take on things. I miss knowing someone cares about the things I care about.
Although there weren’t so many of those nights in the last few years, even before I knew we weren’t going to patch things up. There were more nights of me coming to bed late or bringing my laptop with me to map out business plans and long-term vision statements or research new ways to promote the fest. It was so big and exciting, that time as the festival took off, but somewhere along the way, I forgot about my husband, and he stopped caring about the things I care about.
Just gratitude. Not attraction. Brady’s too young for me, too young to be really interested in me, no matter what he said on the phone on Friday.
* * *
The intern starts on Monday. His name is Patrick. He looks like he’s about twelve and tells me he’s from somewhere called Grizzly Falls when Harpreet brings him by my office for an introduction. He also thanks me about a hundred times for giving him this opportunity. I wish I could tell him we’re paying him to play on Facebook all summer, but it feels unprofessional. Also, the way he looks at me with naked awe, as if he’s meeting the prime minister, makes me feel about a million years old.
“How old is he?” I mouth to Harpreet as she leads him away, but she only shrugs.
His laptop doesn’t work. Or, maybe it does, but he can’t log in. Harpreet’s on the phone with Brady, their conversation audible through my open office door. Somehow, I neither want him to solve the problem over the phone nor come to the office to fix it. Because despite all my good intentions about gratitude and everything else, I can still feel the imprint of his palm on my knee and the cool trickle of his water down my throat. And not far behind that is the purr of his voice as he says he can’t decide if he wants to call me daddy ordaddy.
Would it be so bad? Maybe not with Brady. The work thing makes it complicated. But maybe it’s time. The divorce has been final for six months and Dominic asked me to leave six months before that. Would it be so bad if I met someone new? It doesn’t have to be serious. Just an itch to scratch with someone willing and moderately attractive.
“Hey there.” Brady’s voice makes my head snap up. I glance at the clock on my laptop. It’s after noon. For the last two hours, I’ve been mindlessly scrolling between reports and spreadsheets and some mock-ups Harpreet put together last week.
“Hi,” I say, feeling guilty, like he’s caught me watching porn at the office.
“How you doing?” He gives me a grin that draws my attention from the dimple on his cheek to the diamond stud in one earring. Has he always had that?
“Fine. You?”
His grin spreads, and with every fraction of an inch it grows, my heart beats faster too. “No, I mean. How are you doing? After Saturday.”
My skittering heart wobbles to a sloppy stop. Because maybe on Friday he wanted to call me daddy, but now I’m the idiot who nearly passed out in a yoga class.
“Oh. Yeah. Fine.” I lift the mug on my desk. “Staying hydrated.”
He frowns. “Coffee dehydrates you.”
It’s actually chamomile and peppermint tea, but correcting him feels fussy, especially while my ego is still licking its wounds, so instead I say, “You here for the laptop?”
“Yeah.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “We got it worked out. I gave Harpreet the wrong password. My fault.” His grin is cocky, but after meeting Patrick the intern, today Brady looks like an actual adult to me. He must be almost thirty, right? Old enough that he could—
“How’s your phone? Still got your contacts?” he says.
Old enough that he knows how to be a professional—something I am failing at today.
