“There’s nothing wrong with that."
“No, but it’s not what I want,” I said.
He glanced at my work desk, then up the stairs. “If you got what you wanted, would you be holed up in a room all alone, not even a stuffed turkey to talk to?”
“Not exactly,” I muttered.
In an ideal world, I had an uncomfortable longing for someone like him to be beside me. Okay, maybe him, specifically. But the chance of our relationship failing was even worse than the spider mech's. How could either of us take that risk?
26
Attachment Issues
I wasn’t supposed to fantasize about anyone, even in a platonic play-games-and-share-snacks kind of way. I was supposed to take baby steps. Make friends. Or at least learn to handle everyday social interaction again.
I sighed and sidled up to Sal for warmth. All this affection probably just stemmed from the weird psychological fear I’d be alone once Victor officially moved in with Kat. Being alone wasn’t so bad. I’d have the mall crew for as long as I worked there. Once I left, though, I wasn’t going to show up at the bar on Wednesdays begging for a scrap of attention. After all, Sal was nice, but he wasn’t hurting for company. The girls his friend tried to set him up with probably wouldn’t ugly-cry on his shoulder or make him hide in a basement with no clothes on. He deserved someone who could make him as happy as he made everyone else. Someone kind. Unfortunately, that was a trait people didn’t really associate with me.
“Sorry for all that,” I muttered, standing and offering him his shirt. “You should finish getting dressed. I’ll remake your tea. Victor stole a mug for himself.”
He spread his legs to block the stairs. “Don’t worry about the tea. Come on, talk to me.”
I sighed, trying to ignore his puppy-dog eyes. “I don’t have the energy or tissues to do this emotional thing.”
“Maybe after breakfast?” He raised his brows, hope bright on his face.
I screwed up my face and leaned back. “Don’t you want me to stop crying? Or is this a martyr, schadenfreude kinda thing?”
He frowned at the floor. “No, I just think if we talk about it, maybe you’ll be…”
“Well-adjusted?” I arched my eyebrow.
He laughed, his dimples deep. “Lighter, maybe.”
“Lighter, not necessarily happier.” That made more sense. “Interesting.”
Sal followed me upstairs, then wrangled his shirt on as we sorted breakfast. I eyed him over scrambled eggs and toast. How was he so ‘light’ all the time? Didn’t he have family drama?
“Are you an only child?” I asked.
He covered his mouth, coughing thanks to a gulp of steaming tea. “What gave it away?”
“You’re ‘light.’”
He chuckled and slumped over the kitchen island. “Yeah…”
Was that not the case? I frowned. “Sorry, I don’t know much about you.” Maybe it was better that way, but I wanted to understand him. That could apply to my research…at least about making friends. I shoveled some more eggs onto his plate. “What’s your family like?”
“Um, Mom and Dad divorced.” He combed his goatee as if lost in thought.
It was probably an unpleasant topic. I adjusted my glasses. “Did you spend a lot of time with your grandparents, then?”
“Yes.” He stood straighter, his amber eyes glinting in the light. “They loved to babysit.”
“It wouldn’t be much of a burden. They ran a toy store, so I bet you could go to work with them.”
“I did.” He beamed. “Assistant manager by the time I was ten.”
I wagged my brows. “Huh. Nepotism at its finest.”
