Page 52 of Better Hate than Never

Christopher

“You are in a foul mood today.”

I glare at Nick. “Did I say you could talk to me?”

“Oof.” He looks to Hugh and makes aget a look at this guygesture.

Hugh, one of my best employees and all-around stand-up guy, just smiles my way as he tells Nick, “Take it easy on the boss. He’s got a lot on his plate.”

“Yeah,” Nick quips. “The world’s largest, butteriest pile of toast.”

I sigh, biting into another piece of toast, which is indeed stacked on top of a number of other extremely buttery slices of toast, but after a migraine, I crave salt and simple carbs. That, combined with a cold, sweet fruit smoothie, generally sits well and eases the lingering nausea I feel.

“How’s Jack doing with moving schools?” I ask. I’m desperate for a subject change. I don’t want to think about how many migraines I’ve had lately, how high my stress is, how epically last night backfired, how lost I am, now that I’ve abandoned the old manual with Kate.

And I really don’t want to think about the fact that I kissed her, that I can still taste her, a trace of maple glaze on the soft pillow of her lip; still feel the warmth of her skin beneath my hand.

God, Ikissedher.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

Ihaveto stop thinking about it.

Hugh finishes chewing his bite as he sets down his sandwich and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Jack’s doing so much better. It was the right call.”

“Good.”

“Here.” Hugh pulls out his phone and opens up his photo album, spinning it so I can see. “Look how good he looks.”

I smile. Jack’s hair is close-cropped now, making his expressive brown eyes look even bigger and wider. His hands are on his hips, his jeans dark and perfectly tailored, his green and orange striped sweater almost as bright as his smile.

“He looks perfect. And happy.”

Hugh nods, angling the phone for Nick to see.

“God, he’s cute,” Nick says. “I can’t wait for kids. I want at least five. No. Seven. Definitely an odd number.”

Hugh laughs. “You say that now. Wait until you have one and you don’t sleep for a year.”

I can’t help but glance at the photo again as Hugh spins it his way. It’s a stunning image. The angle the photographer used, the way light glances off Jack’s cheekbones and catches his eyes. How softly out of focus the background is, but not so much as to render the elegant bouquet of flowers behind him unrecognizable—

Wait.

“Sorry,” I mutter, picking up Hugh’s phone and zooming in.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

I zoom in a little more. Holy shit. “Was this taken at the Edgy Envelope?”

Hugh smiles. “Yeah. We got Jack a journal there. His therapist recommended it after our last session, and her office is just down the street, so I figured we’d stop by. Tia loves that place, too. I got her a perfume there last Christmas that was not cheap, but letme tell you, that investment paid dividends, you know what I’m saying?”

Nick offers him a fist pound, cracking up. “I’m gonna check it out, then. Get something for Bianca,” he says, before biting into his sandwich.

I give him a sharp look. “You will not.”

“Why not?” he asks around his mouthful.

“Because Kate’s working there and will not take kindly to you showing your face.” I tap the screen on Hugh’s phone. “That’s who took this photo, isn’t it, Kate?”

---