Page 89 of Whiskey Shivers

“Okay, baby. I’ll come get you when dinner is ready.”

“Okay,” I said and I quietly climbed the ladder with my bags into my loft.

It was a bit cool in the house, and so I wrapped my shoulders in a chenille throw and sat on my cushion at my low corner desk in the back. I kept everything so cozy up here, and low. I didn’t want to put a full-size desk up here even though I could. I didn’t want anything up here except my books and my cozy reading seat and my tea and my comfort.

My little workspace was as little as I could make it and still have one and I liked it like that.

I turned on my little fairy lights which illuminated up here after dark perfectly for reading but the lighting remained low enough to not be glaring or obtrusive, a warm white light that kept everything wonderfully comfortable. A splendid little space that was allme.

I looked around at my neat rows of books along the built-in shelves with my little knick knacks and photographs among them. I had to sigh.

I’d never had a space like this before. One that was trulymine… something that was wholly for me and about me.

Hex had given me that.

I sighed and set up my laptop, plugging it in and connecting to the house’s Wi-Fi automatically, all while staring off into space and contemplating what I wanted to say.

In the end, I realized nothing I would say would matter. Nothing I would say would make any difference, or change, or sway them in any way. All it would serve would be to make me feel better… and honestly, it wouldn’t be anything but wasted energy or effort.

So, I simply typed out a generic resignation, giving my notice to the end of the year, and I emailed it off to the powers that be and that was that, I guess.

I sighed heavily, then emailed my lawyer with everything that happened and I told them I didn’t think it would make a difference or matter in any way, but reminded them they did tell me to keep them appraised of anything that may or may not be construed as retaliation. I didn’t know if this would count seeing as it didn’t happen to me – but it certainly hurt and felt incredibly much like a slight against me and that was enough to make me send it.

“Hey.” I turned and found Hex on the ladder, half leaning into the loft space with me.

“Hey,” I murmured back.

He cocked his head and he asked me, “Can I come up the rest of the way?”

“Yeah, please. Please do,” I said.

I scooted over to the plush overstuffed pillows and lounge spot as he crested the ladder and came across to me, settling in beside me and taking me into his arms. I hugged myself to his side and settled in, half draped over him, living for the feel of his arms around me. The comfort he gave me was immense and I soaked up his love and care.

“Talk to me, baby,” he murmured and I sighed.

“None of this is fair to you,” I said and I sniffed.

“See, I don’t see it that way,” he said. “I see it as none of this is fair toyou.”

I looked up at him and his expression was as serious as I’d ever seen it.

“You’re seriouslyunbotheredby what they’ve done?”

“I wouldn’t saythatper se. I can’t say I’m unbothered. I mean sure, it pisses me off but I guess what it really boils down to is that I’m unsurprised.Shit like this is par for the course for me. Did I like my job? Yeah. Made me feel closer to my dad – you know he was a custodian for a school, right?”

“You’d told me,” I said with a faint smile. “But that almost makes me feelworse.”

“Don’t, baby.” He kissed my forehead.

“Tell me,” I begged. “What doyouwant? I mean, what is one of your biggest desires and childhood dreams?”

“Hm.” He smiled, rocking me with the single syllable chuckle he made at whatever thought had occurred to him.

“I wanted to be just like my dad,” he said, and I pushed myself up and slung a leg over his hips, straddling him and crossing my forearms on his chest. I rested my chin on my layered hands I fixed his gaze with mine and at first it was amused but the more I thought about what it was that was scratching and tearing and digging its way into my mind the more he lost his easy smile and he asked me, “What?”

“You said you had your dad’s recipes, right?” I asked softly. “For his moonshine and all of that?”

He looked at me, his hand buried in my hair rubbing my head soothingly like he did. Like I was a cat, or more realistically because he luxuriated in the feel of my hair in his hands. I mean, it was like he couldn’t keep his hands out of it.

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