Page 53 of Better Hate than Never

“Yeah, wait, how do you know her? She was so good with Jack. Tia was like, ‘Can we see if she babysits?’ ”

“Unless you want Jack burning bras and rubbing shoulders with an anti-capitalist, I would not recommend Kate as a babysitter.”

He laughs. “Ah, there are worse things than a kid spending time with an adult fired up about the world’s injustices. I mean, I want that, truth be told. We all do. It’s why we work here. It’s why you took your family’s company in an entirely new direction.”

I stare at the photo, knowing he’s right, how in many ways—in spite of how I’ve tried to tell myself otherwise—Kate and I share similar goals for the world, albeit through very different methods.

And now I’m back to remembering those kisses.

Jesus, I’m screwed. The mess I’m trying to clean up just became messier.

I have a decade of experience wooing women. But I have never had to work to repair a relationship with one. Especially one I don’twanta relationship with, for so many very sensible reasons. How do you make things right with someone without making things good between you? How do you set a break without grafting yourselves together in the healing?

Apparently you kiss them, then dream about them, then beatoff in the shower to thoughts of them, and obsessively replay kissing them in your head.

I’m losing it.

And it’s all her damn fault.

“Do you think she’d be free to watch Jack?” Hugh asks, shattering my thoughts.

“Probably not. She’s a traveling photojournalist,” I tell him. “She won’t be here for long. She never is. She disappears for months, even years sometimes.”

“Wait, a photojournalist? I have abrilliantidea.” Nick drops his sandwich and claps his hands together. “You should hire her to do the new company headshots.”

I blink at him, gently setting down Hugh’s phone. “Why thehellwould I do that?”

Nick leans in, smiling. “You’ve been grumbling that they need to be updated. And you’re not wrong, Hugh’s creepy uncle goatee was rough—”

“Hey.” Hugh throws a chip at Nick’s head. “You leave me and my goatee alone. It was artistic.”

“It was not your best look, my friend.” Nick turns back to me. “Listen, I know you and Kate don’t get along, but—”

“Wait. You don’t?” Hugh frowns. “She seemed so friendly. What’s the problem?”

“A complicated multitude of ills,” I mutter.

“And who knows better what cures a multitude of ills than us?” Nick says. “Money.”

“With pretty much anyone else,” I tell him, “but not Kate.”

“So whatdoesshe value?” Hugh asks.

I try very hard to push away the memory of last night, her confession that she’s felt excluded, shut out, pushed away. It makes my chest ache.

“She just...” My throat feels thick. “She just wants to feel like she belongs.”

And I made her feel like she didn’t. Guilt sours my stomach. I push my food away.

“Hmm.” Hugh frowns thoughtfully. “Well, never thought I’d say it, but for once, I think Nick’s onto something, then.”

“Thanks,” Nick says, before he realizes the implications. “Hey.”

Hugh laughs. “I’m just messing with you, man. It’s a good idea and not your first.”

“Hiring her to do our photos?” I ask Hugh, turning it over. “Why is that a good idea?”

“You said she needs to feel like she belongs. So give her something to belong to. You want to smooth things over with her and let her feel like a part of your world—”

---