That’s me.
But tonight, I really tried.
I put on my best soft-green sweater and jeans. I styled my hair. Hell, I even put on cologne. I’m really trying here.
But I’m freaking out as I stand outside on the front porch, listening to the laughter inside. I don’t know how to be this person anymore. Not since I lost my husband.
I mean, it’s not like I was the life of the party before my husband died or anything, but he had this way of bringing me out of my comfort zone. When I was with him, I felt like a better version of myself.
Now I feel like an empty shell. And I never really thought that would be me. I never thought I would live and breathe for another human. That was all before I met Ben. Everything changed when I met him, and everything changed again when I lost him five short years later.
“You going to go in or stay out here, staring at the door?” I jump at the voice coming from the far side of the porch. Only now do I see one of the members of Oakley’s Crew in the dark, his feet dragging against the porch as he swings in the large wooden porch swing, which I’m sure Oakley made himself.
It’s almost pitch-dark out here, but I can finally make out some of his features using the outdoor light that’s flicked on above my head. He’s younger than me by about ten years or so. Tall and lanky with dirty blond hair, and I can’t make out his eye color, but they flash with a certain amount of chaos I could spot anywhere.
Archer? Andrew? Asher. That’s it.
I’ve met him a couple of times when my guys and I were on the same job site as Oakley’s Crew. I run a construction company I started with Ben almost eight years ago, and we cross paths more often than you’d think. Not to mention we always recommend their crew when our customers ask for a landscaping referral.
Construction and landscaping go hand in hand.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Sobering up, I guess. The cold helps.” He stands up, walking toward me, and for some reason, my heart kicks up in a way I haven’t felt in years. I flinch, stepping back just as he reaches his hand out for me. He watches me for a moment before dropping his hand and acting like what I just did was no big deal.
That’s nice of him, but I know it’s strange—my aversion to touch or being touched by another human being.
“I’m Asher.”
“I know. We’ve met before,” I say gruffly, and why am I this way? I can hear Ben’s voice in my head.“Just be nice, babe. He’s a good kid. He’s being friendly.”
But the voice isn’t real. Ben isn’t here. And I don’t care if Asher is a good kid. I don’t want to engage in small talk. I shouldn’t be here. I thrust the bottle of wine toward Asher. “Just tell Oakley I couldn’t stay and give this to him, okay?”
Asher doesn’t take the bottle from me to let me off the hook though. Instead, he stands there, just watching me, one eyebrow lifted as he tries to figure me out. I don’t like it. Not at all. I find myself nervously shifting from one foot to the other.
I don’t get nervous.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“You should go in and tell him yourself.” He reaches for the doorknob, and I instantly grab his wrist to stop him. When I realize I’m touching him, though, I panic, jerking my hand away, my entire being frantic now.
“No. I’m not going in there.”
He doesn’t move to open the door again. Just remains completely still except for his eyes, which are still watching me ever so carefully. “I know they can be a lot...”
“No. It’s not that,” I try. “I’m just busy. I have to go to work.”
His brow raises even higher now, calling me out without actually saying anything.
“Some people work all year long, okay? Construction doesn’t fully stop in the winter.” Though it does slow down a hell of a lot, and of course, I don’t have a job to do on Christmas Eve. But the panic inside me—thinking about going inside and being surrounded by a bunch of good-hearted, kind people who just want to hang out with me and be my friend... Yeah, it’s all too much.
I don’t need this.
I don’t want this.
“Thatcher...” His soft voice brings me back to the moment as our eyes meet. I thought he was a young cocky guy, but right now, there seems to be a soft side to him. The only times I’ve seen him, he’s usually being loud and boisterous, goofing around on the job, but he’s not being loud right now. “It’s okay. Come in. Have a drink. Say hi to Oakley. It’ll make his year that you showed.”
I want to argue with that, but Oakley has been trying to get me to come to a party for years now. I always turn him down. No doubt the big guy would be thrilled to see me actually show up for once. “Okay,” I reluctantly agree, but my feet just won’t move.
