“I don’t know,” I said, defaulting to the only defense I had left. “Nathan—”
“Will be in Vegas,” Shane said gently, not unkind. “Working. Which, for the record, is fine. That’s his choice. But you get to have choices, too, Ari.”
Did I?
I wasn’t sure.
I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
“I don’t want to cause problems,” I said quietly.
He shifted the box to one arm so he could free a hand, like he had the impulse to reach for me and was physically restraining himself at the last second.
“You coming over to eat turkey and argue about whether pumpkin pie is superior to pecan is not causing problems,” he said. “It’s… living. It’s being with friends.”
That hadn’t been exactly what I’d been referencing. The problem I was thinking of was what Nathan would do when he found out I went. But I didn’t correct Shane because the word he’d said landed like a stone in my stomach.
Friends.
That’s what we were now, what we were supposed to be. That had been the neat little label I’d put on whatever existed between us, because anything else was too big, too dangerous.
Too threatening to the life I’d worked so hard to build.
Funny, because some days, I felt like that life was tearing me apart from the inside.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
It was the most I could give him.
His shoulders dropped a little. “That’s all I’m asking,” he said. “If you decide you want to come, text me. I’ll send you the address and the time. You can even show up late just for dessert if you want. No pressure.”
“No pressure,” I repeated, like if I said it out loud enough, it might feel true.
Footsteps echoed down the concourse then, voices bouncing closer. I recognized one of them immediately, the cadence, the lazy drawl.
Nathan.
Shane heard it, too. He took a step back, widening the distance between us, body instinctively shifting into something that looked more neutral, more… professional.
“Hey,” he said, his voice just for me now, low and earnest. “Regardless of… anything. You should be proud of tonight. You did something good. For a lot of people.”
I met his gaze, my throat suddenly thick.
“Thank you,” I managed.
He nodded once, then turned, disappearing down the hallway with the box in his arms before Nathan rounded the corner.
“There you are,” Nathan said when he spotted me, his tone light, like he was complimenting a well-trained dog who’d stayed where it was supposed to. “I’ve been looking all over.”
I resisted the urge to tilt my head at that and askhave you?
“Just finishing up,” I said, gesturing to the half-bare table. “The volunteers took most of the stuff down already.”
He slid an arm around my waist, pulling me close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath. His fingers skimmed the line of my ribcage, stopping just shy of my wrist.
“Good,” he said. “Come on. Jennings cut a big check tonight and wants to talk to you about setting up a Sweet Dreams donation box inside the Jennings Financial Building. Smile and be charming, okay?”
I nodded, tucking whatever fragile, flickering thing Shane had just put in my chest somewhere safe.
