“Oh, exciting. Can I see?”
I turn to face him, making eye contact, and he jerks backwards.
“Your eyes,” he gushes, and I feel my stomach flip. Why do I feel exposed all of a sudden?
“Oh, yeah,” I fumble with my coffee, looking away. “I-I got rid of my old contact lenses. They were just for the colour anyway.” I don’t really feel like explaining my irrational connection to those stupid contact lenses standing out here in the cold, but Nash’s expression is warm and kind, his countenance carrying none of the weight of judgement I placed on my own shoulders. “Truth be told,” I begin, deciding to take a leap of faith, “my ex wanted me to wear them, and I’ve been hiding behind them ever since. The lenses and the blond hair were all him. And I just didn’t want to bring any part of him here, you know?”
Nash nods.
“Yeah, I know,” he says, his voice whisper-soft in the breeze. “You wanted to be yourself here? Have a fresh start?”
I sag in relief. He gets it, and without me needing to offer too much explanation.
“Yeah. Definitely. I just… needed to blow the cobwebs of my old life away.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I much prefer your green eyes.”
Why do I feel like I’m blushing?
“Thanks,” I say, and look over to the ducks. I tear open the cone of food in my hand and pass it to Nash. He takes it and joins me, our shoulders brushing as I tear open a second cone. A moment of comfortable silence descends as we treat the paddling of ducks in front of us to a veritable feast. By the time the third cone, shared between us, is empty, so are our coffees, and he takes our cups to the public wastebin.
“So,” he says as he returns to my side. “Can I see?”
“See what?” I ask, confused.
“Your new, old hair.”
I chuckle.
“Oh, sure.” I pull off the beanie Rain had lent me this morning, and my freshly cut and coloured locks fall around my face. I chuckle self-consciously and run my hands through it.The cut is something different, too. My hair had grown out so much that I asked the stylist to leave some of the length, so now I have a floppy, messy haircut that reaches the tops of my ears and looks vaguely reminiscent of ‘curtains’ from the ‘90s but, like, a more modern, elevated version – his words, not mine. It flops around my head, which feels odd after so many years of wrestling it into the God-awful pompadour Dominic insisted on. “You like it?” I ask, my voice quiet and quivering a little. I’m not sure why, but it matters what Nash thinks.
“Much, much better,” he says, and his smile lights up his face like the sun. “You know, if you really want to blow the cobwebs away…” he starts, head tilting in question.
“Always.”
“Can I take you somewhere in the morning? There’s something you might like to see.”
I can’t imagine what or where he wants to take me, but my answer would be the same, regardless. Nash has been nothing but kind to me, and he’s making a real effort to become a friend. I feel comfortable around him the same way I did Rain. The same way I did Emma and John. I think we could be good friends, so I give him the only possible answer.
“Yes, I’d love that.”
Ten
Nash
My truck is warm – as are the croissants I have in an insulated bag, and the coffee in two insulated cups in the centre console – when I park up at Aidan’s house at six o’clock the next morning.
Corey is waiting for me on the porch, bundled up in baggy jeans, a hoody, and what looks to be one of Aidan’s winter coats, given the way it’s drowning his leaner frame. He hops down the few steps and climbs up into my passenger seat as soon as the truck comes to a stop. Rubbing his hands together, he blows into them in an effort to warm them up. If he’s this cold now, he’s going to be freezing when we get to where we’re going. I look over my shoulder to the backseat and… aha.
“Here, pop this on over your hoody,” I say as I grab the navy blue, cashmere cardigan I was wearing the other day. I’d changed into a smarter jacket before my meeting with David, and hadn’t remembered to bring this inside the house.
Corey looks up at me and smiles softly as he shrugs out of my brother’s enormous coat and into my cashmere cardigan.
“That’s better,” I say, feeling more relaxed now that I know he has another layer between him and Aidan’s coat. He’ll be much warmer now.
“Thanks.” Corey’s voice in the morning is a little husky, like he just rolled out of bed, and the smell of toothpaste emanating from him suggests that may not be too far from the truth. “So, where are you taking me at this ungodly hour?”
I snort a laugh.
