Page 45 of Yule Know It When You See It
I take my jacket resting on the armrest and fold it over a chair, letting an exhale push from my nose.
“Here you go.” Spencer tosses the pillow to the couch after fluffing it. “You can use this blanket on the back here if your Norse ass gets cold.”
“Thanks, Spence. And I mean that.” I use my knuckles to knead my opposite palm. Being vulnerable like this in front of your best friend isn’t always the most comfortable.
“Don’t mention it. Hope you can manage at least two winks of shuteye with all that going on in your head.” Spencer smirks, shaking his head, and turns to walk away.
“Don’t think we’re done talking about that furry comb you have on your upper lip,” I say to his back.
Spencer glares at me over his shoulder. “Sticks and stones. I hope you like wearing bright red on your head.”
I manage a laugh—a short burst followed immediately by a frown. Once Spencer’s bedroom door shuts, I move to the floor lamp and turn off the light, spilling darkness over the room. After sitting on the couch and staring at fuzzy shadowed outlines of Spencer’s belongings, I lift my feet and lay back. I try to calm my mind, count my breaths, and focus on each bone, starting at my toes, but nothing keeps the thoughts from consuming me.
Have I somehow lost Theo before ever gaining a chance tohaveher?
No sooner do I overhear their conversation, I grab my jacket and head straight home. Did I lock my computer? Ugh. Hopefully, Desiree covers for me if I didn’t, but I can’t stay here. I can’t risk co-workers seeing me cry, or Simone, or worse—Axel. My ex royally screwing me over in far more ways than I care to remember hasn’t been a thought in over a year. Lucky me that such a trivial thing as a three-sentence conversation can catapult me straight over the proverbial cliff.
I’m up the following day after what I calculated was approximately one hour of sleep through the night’s tossing and turning, flopping to my back to stare at the ceiling and contemplate my life’s choices, or the infamous brain that never shuts up. I manage to shower myself without issue, so we’re winning in that regard, but as soon as I enter the office, it becomes a game of cat and mouse that isnotof the endearing slow-burn variety. Axel tries to find me, and I avoid him at every possible turn. If Simone hadn’t outlawed hoodies in the office space, I’d have worn one.Thatis the level we’re at, folks.
How does one deal with this and still go about their work day? The last time, I quit my job and sought greener pastures. But also last time, he’d been my boyfriend of two years and not only weaseled his way into my story but managed to throw it in my face. Axel has been fairly mum about it thus far, so at least I know he’s got an ounce of respect.
I’m going to the mailroom to make copies of whatever I managed to grab off my desk before scurrying away when Axel’s head appears over the horizon of desks and cubicles. Gasping, I duck into the first available area—the break room.
Ah, yes. Coffee is perfect. This oasis will do nicely.
Grabbing my same beloved Darth Vader holiday mug, I pour caffeinated elixir into it while watching Axel through a crack in the blinds. He’s sighing, rubbing his temples, and seemingly cursing to himself before whipping around to face his desk.
Hopefully, he’s finally giving up on finding me because I’ll crawl through the fire escape even if weareseveral floors up,andI’m terrified of heights. Some may think I’m being pathetic or taking things out of proportion, but it’s a matter of self-preservation and protecting my heart.
I doctor up my coffee with creamer and start on the sugar packets, staring at Axel and all his smugness, glancing around him as if worried anyone else has caught on to his bull crap. My fixation warps into an expression that I’m certain resembles an agitated gremlin, and Desiree proves this theory when she walks past me, halts, and moonwalks back to the doorway.
She’s in the room and now leaning into my face. “Theo? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” I rip open another packet, unblinking and unfaltering in my Axel stare down. “Why?”
Desiree blocks my Viking view and points down. “For starters, honey, you’ve got a dozen empty sugar packets lying on the table and are adding your thirteenth.”
“Crap,” I blurt, dropping the current sugar packet like a firecracker.
“What’s going on with you, friend?” Des discreetly slides the coffee mug away from me and swooshes the empty packets into the garbage.
Shooting from the hip, I point at Axel through the window, my eyes squinting, widening, and back to squinting again. “He. And then she. And they. Buthe—”
I’m not making any sense, even to myself. And sound like someone who has lost all parts of speech save for pronouns and conjunctions.
Desiree’s hand lightly rests on mine, and she lowers it. “You’ll come with me to my next food critique site. I’ll tell Simone I need your romantic perspective regarding the setting. Alright?”
I shake my head, stubbornly refusing to let Axel make me feel uncomfortable in my workplace, around coworkers and friends I considered family. But then, he’s already done a bang-up job with that, hasn’t he?
“Theo—” Des’s hand grips under my chin, and she turns my face to hers. “It’s at Scarpacci’s.”
A spark of hope rumbles in my stomach. There is no shortage of places to find deep-dish pizza in Chicago, but Scarpacci’s has some of the best. Perfectly melted cheese. Adequate sauce amount and taste. And the best part? They don’t put crumbles of meat on it. They cover the entire thing with one slab, ensuring every bite is bursting with flavor. This woman knows the way straight to my heart through my stomach.
“Fine. I suppose I can suffer through a free lunch with my bestie at the expense of wallowing in self-pity at work and playing Dodge the Viking.” I twirl my wrist and flick something from my nail.
“That’s the spirit. And you’ll tell me what happened with you and Axel so that you can stop looking like an agent on a stakeout who never intends on pursuing their mark. Okay?” She ushers me toward the door, massaging my shoulders.
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