Page 29 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
I sit on the edge of the bed.And wait.
Ten seconds.I count them in my head.
Fifteen.
A minute.The digital clock on the nightstand glows red, mocking me.
Pipes creak again.Louder.Closer.The sudden noise makes my pulse spike.
Maybe he’s not up.Maybe I shouldn’t have sent that.Maybe this was a mistake.Maybe he’ll think I’m just inventing an excuse to see him.Which I’m not.I’m really not (I should stop arguing with myself).
I’m genuinely concerned.
Mostly.
Buzz.
My phone vibrates against the nightstand, the sound almost violent in the quiet room:
On my way.—Adam
My lungs finally remember how to work.I inhale like I’ve been underwater.
Dorothy perks up the moment she hears the knock.Three short raps, too soft to be casual, too firm to be hesitant.
Of course she does.
I hesitate before opening the door.I’m not even sure why.I’ve seen him today.Tonight.In a kitchen with pancakes and unresolved feelings.
But this feels like something else.Something that could tip the balance.Like opening this door is agreeing to something I’m not ready to name.
Maybe because there’s a bed in the room?Or more likely because it’s him and he’s leaving tomorrow and it feels like a moment in time.
I open the door anyway.
Adam’s standing there, hoodie zipped up, carrying his vet bag like it’s normal to be summoned at 11:30 p.m.for an emotionally fragile dachshund.
“Hey,” he says, soft.One word, but it wraps around me like a physical thing.
I step back, letting him in.The air shifts as he passes, carrying his scent with him.“Sorry.Again.”
He waves it off.“Where is she?”
“Here.”I gesture.Dorothy immediately limps three steps, then whines dramatically and flops back down like she’s auditioning for the newPetsmovie.An Academy Award-worthy performance.
He crouches beside her.She licks his hand like she’s never known suffering in her life.Traitor.
“She’s okay,” he murmurs, checking her joints with gentle fingers.I watch those hands move, clinical and precise.“Maybe a little sore, maybe tweaked something.But this”—he glances up at me, eyes catching mine—”this is mostly anxiety.”
“I figured,” I mutter.“But then I started spiraling and the carrier was giving her side-eye and—”
A pipe groans even louder.
We both freeze.
“Was that—?”Adam’s eyes widen, fixed on the ceiling where a hairline crack has appeared.
Crack!
