Page 19 of Catch Me If You Can

I smile widely, feeling that burst of adrenaline again. “Watch and learn, young Padawan. I’m about to catch myself a wife.”

8

nathan

Okay, so I might’ve freaked out more than necessary.

I still can’t believe I basically ran away from Sarah the other day at the café. But my head was spinning, and the moment my brain veered towards memories of Caleb, it was like everything inside me froze. I couldn’t think straight—not with his shadow suddenly in the room.

But maybe… maybe she had a point.

I’m twenty-two years old and I’ve never dated anyone but her. She’s been my only experience—ever.And that same person sat across from me and said she didn’t want me anymore. No wonder I panicked.

Without Sarah, I don’t even know who I am. I was nothing before her... and I’m scared I’ll be nothing after.

A voice breaks through my spiral. “Hey, Nathan. Everything okay?”

I jolt slightly in my chair. It’s James, my boss, creeping up behind me with that smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

“Hey, James,” I mumble. “I guess I’m not feeling too great.” I rub my temples in slow circles, trying to push away the ache building behind my eyes.

“Oh no, that’s not good,” he says, stepping in closer. Too close. A second later, I feel his hands on my shoulders, kneading the tension there.

I tense immediately. Is this even allowed? Can he just…nottouch me like that?

To be fair, it feels good. His hands are strong, working out the knots in my upper back, but still—I’d rather die than accidentally moan.

“Uh… thanks.” I shift in my seat, trying to shrug him off without being obvious. He’s not a bad-looking guy, but he’s still my superior.

And I’m not into men. I should’ve led with that.

Even if I were, I’d prefer my boss didn’t openly hit on me while I’m trying to survive a mental breakdown at work. This is 100% not the time.

“How about you take the rest of the day off?” he says, his voice dropping just slightly, like it’s supposed to be comforting. “It’s Thursday, so take tomorrow too. Make it a long weekend.”

He rolls his knuckles down my back again, slow and firm. I practically choke back a sound that’s dangerously close to a groan.

“Seriously?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay neutral.

“Yeah, of course. We’ve got it covered here,” he says with a final squeeze. “Just come back Monday feeling like yourself again.”

I offer a polite smile. “Yeah. Thanks.” He finally walks away, and I exhale hard, feeling some of the stress in my chest loosen—not because of his massage, but because he’s gone.

That’s a problem for another day. Today’s problem is Sarah.

I start packing up my things. As I’m zipping up my laptop bag, my phone buzzes. A notification from Instagram.

Of course. I forgot I still have alerts turned on for whenever Sarah posts.

This one’s from Toronto.

My stomach drops. She's already gone?

It’s a photo of her riding a bicycle through downtown, hair blowing in the wind, grinning at the camera. She looks… happy.Free.

I feel my chest sink as I stare at the screen. She’s really gone.

And she’s already living. Just like she told me to do.

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