Page 88 of The Catch

He swallowed, bobbing his head in response. “Christmas is over, you know.”

“Technically, the Christmas season doesn’t end until the twelfth day. My grandmother used to keep the tree up and let us do all of the Christmasy stuff until January sixth—the Epiphany holiday.” She spooned some soup into a bowl while she spoke and slid it across the counter to him.

The way her eyes danced merrily while she spoke reminded him that it was the first year in a long time he’d been looking forward to the holidays, until their ill-timed breakup.

“Can I come watch it with you?”

Her lips quirked into an amused smile at the request, given he was asking to come out into his own living room. “Yeah,” she said. “Of course.”

They both took a seat on the couch, squished into opposite corners, and Josh took a big gulp of his soup. Another time he might have waited until it cooled, but now he needed the heat in his body as much as he needed those pain pills, even if it burned his tongue as he took it.

“The soup is good. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it. It’s better when my mother makes it.”

“I think you did a great job.”

She dropped her gaze to her bowl, slurping from her spoon as she was prone to do. “She gave me the recipe this morning. She was really worried about you. I had to convince her not to make it herself and bring it here.”

Josh wasn’t sure if the idea of Cynthia driving over an hour to bring him soup felt comforting or like the twist of a knife. “Your family has been very kind to me,” he said quietly.

Cat looked at him with an expression that spread like a thorny vine around his heart and squeezed. “They love you, Josh.”

The closing credits of the movie scrolled across the screen, and Cat peeked at Josh out of the corner of her eye. He looked stationary enough—his head cradled by the arm of the couch, his legs tucked up beside him—like he might keep her company for a little while longer.

“What do you want to watch now?” she asked with a hint of hope in her voice that she couldn’t hide.

Josh’s shoulders jolted, and she immediately regretted it.

Of course.He’d fallen asleep; that’s why he was still there. Was he going to retreat back to his room now that she’d woken him? Or worse, suggest she head home? Neither one of them had mentioned her staying again, but judging by the raspiness of his breathing and the slight sheen on his forehead, he was still in no condition to care for himself. Besides, it was dark and the weather was a tentative mixture of half snow, half rain. Even in his state of hating her, he wouldn’t want her to drive the hour back to the city.

Disappointment clattered through her when he pulled himself up to sitting and ran a hand through his hair. But then he gave her the tiniest hint of a smile. “Might as well pick another Christmas movie,” he said. “Since we have twelve days and all.”

Cat swallowed the acid that had begun to burn the back of her throat, and her face burst into a smile bigger than she’d intended. “Okay. Any suggestions?”

“Whatever you want.”

His indifference didn’t dampen her. It was typical of his demeanor: easy-going, congenial. Normal Josh—the one who saved any forcefulness for the things that mattered in life. His uncomplaining nature was why she’d been so taken aback by his reaction to Jay that night. But to him, it looked as thoughshewere indifferent to what they had, and that definitely mattered. She thought of Dylan’s assessment, of all the cracks she’d put in this thing between them, and how in that parking lot, Josh had tried to tear it all down.

Don’t let him be right.

“Cat.” His voice startled her despite the near-whisper of it. When he’d adjusted his position, he’d moved ever so slightly toward the middle of the couch, and she turned toward him, doing the same. “I just wanted to say I really appreciate you being here. I know it’s hard. It’s hard for me too. And you were right. I wouldn’t have been able to cook for myself or do any of the other stuff you’re doing. So, thank you.”

She swallowed, fighting the urge to touch him. She wasn’t sure how he managed to look so handsome in baggy sweatpants with dark circles under his eyes, his pale cheeks looking hollow, but manage it he did. The vulnerability in his eyes and the sandpaper scratch of his voice made the room feel like its edges were folding in on themselves, curling around them until Josh’s couch was the only place that existed in the world.

This was the kind of night he’d been talking about when he’d asked her to move in. The two of them in their pajamas, watching television with the light from the gas fireplace flickering across his face. Quiet, intimate, home. It took breaking up for her to realize how much she wanted it too.

“I couldn’t not be here, Josh.” She gave in and touched his face, pressing her fingers against his hot cheek, and when he rested the weight of his head in her palm, she grew bolder, stroking her fingers upward into his hair. There was a force occupying the small space between them, like the invisible pull that exists when you hold two magnets just close enough that they start to rebel against the little bit of distance. He had to feel it too, the way his laser-beam gaze was set on her.

Before she knew it, their foreheads were pressed together, his eyes closed.

“Please don’t,” he whispered, but he didn’t move, even as she cupped his other cheek.

“Can we just talk about what happened? Please?”

“What’s there to talk about, Catia?”

“Us.”

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