Chapter Ten

AJ

I kept myself busy enough that I didn't really have much time to think.

Until, of course, I was stuck in a locked doggy daycare overnight with Samson snoozing on a big bed a few feet away, and nothing to occupy my time after I already cleaned the entire facility and restocked the back room.

I tried to put on the TV, but I couldn't seem to focus on it.

So, yeah, I was left with my thoughts.

The ones that kept circling back to him.

I'd handled the other thing that had been weighing on me.

After some researching, I found there was no way to track my phone just from the number, so I blocked the one that had been giving me a stomachache.

With that solved, all that was left was the Atlas situation.

I'd managed pretty well with avoiding him. Though, admittedly, I was running out of excuses to be out of the house. And it was all starting to feel really silly.

I figured this one last overnight shift would let me get some perspective, then slowly start to let things go back to… normal.

Luckily, Atlas needed less actual assistance now. So there wouldn't be a lot of situations where I would need to touch him, and therefore further complicate my feelings for him.

That was the rub, though.

Even with all the space, the interest and longing were still there.

I still wanted him.

If I were being completely honest with myself, I wanted him more than ever.

Absence and the heart growing fonder in action, I guess.

Even with the distance I'd been putting between us, he'd found ways to be good to me.

He made up the coffee pot and set it to turn on right when he knew I would wake up. He scoured the house to find the puzzle piece that had gone missing, making it impossible to finish my current puzzle. He made sure to always get me my favorites when he ordered snacks or groceries.

God, he even left me little notes with scribbles in the margins I left him, telling me about the new visitors to the bird feeder, or how a squirrel got himself into the feeder once, then lounged on his back, double fisting the bird seed until he was so fat he almost couldn't get back out of it afterward.

"Ugh," I grumbled, rubbing my hands against my dry, tired eyes.

I took the overnight just because it gave me a good excuse not to be in the house. Tucker would have happily covered for Ella, and was admittedly a lot better at doing these shifts than I was.

Samson was unfazed, of course. A bed was a bed, regardless of where it was located. And he'd run himself ragged all day while I drank like three pots of coffee and tried to keep moving and fidgeting, so I didn't start to doze off.

Little by little, though, the sky outside started to grow lighter. Then Tucker's van was pulling into the lot. For the first time ever, earlier than his shift.

"I had a feeling you would need a break," he told me as he came in, a tattered old green backpack slung over his shoulder. It was likely full of books, notebooks, and a giant salad full of greens and sprouts that he, apparently, grew himself.

"You're a god among men, Tuck," I said, walking over to give him a hug. One that he immediately gave back. And I wasn't aware just how much I needed that until I felt his arms tighten around me.

"Hey, what's this?" he asked when a choked sound escaped me.

The tears that I'd been tamping down for a week came right to the surface as soon as I experienced a little softness.

"Alright. What's his name? I'll kick his ass," he said, getting a watery laugh out of me. "Fine. I probably won't kick his ass. But I'll give him a lecture about being mean to girls."

"He wasn't mean to me," I said, sniffling, forcing myself to pull it together.

I was just overly tired. It made it hard to keep my emotions in check.

"He better not. Or I'll sic Ella on him," he declared, reaching up to wipe both of my cheeks with his hands.

"Now that is a warning," I declared, getting a big smile out of him. "Is she coming in today?"

"I told her I am covering today."

"But you're working tonight."

"I don't need a lot of sleep," he said, shrugging it off. "Besides, she needs to be home with the little one. She doesn't have any help," he added, and there was an edge to his voice that had me curious if his feelings for Ella were strictly professional, or if he was maybe harboring a little crush on the single mom.

"She's lucky to have a guy like you around," I said, watching as his gaze slid away, a telltale sign, I felt, that I was right. "Her ex sounds like a nightmare."

"He was. Is," Tucker said.

"Did you know him?"

"Only from him dropping in to see her. And the occasional office party."

Right.

That made sense.

I forgot sometimes that Tuck and Ella had been working here pretty much since the place opened. Back when Ella was a new mom who had to get a job because her husband at the time had been lying to her about being employed. Until the bank account went negative.

So Tucker had been around through all the… well, I would normally say "ups and downs," but it didn't sound like there were a lot of ups in that relationship. Minus the kids, of course.

I'd once gotten the nerve to ask Ella how she'd gotten pregnant with her younger daughter when things had been so rocky with her and her ex. She said it was a moment of insanity on New Years Eve when she'd been tipsy and lonely, and answered the phone when her husband whom she'd been separated from for almost a year, called full of drunken apologies.

Then, of course, I imagined she'd been desperate for help trying to raise two kids on her own, so she'd let him back into her life.

From the sound of things, they'd been rocky for a long time before Ella finally had enough, got a lawyer, and tried to untangle herself from his web of lies.

Which meant Tucker also got to watch her go through a messy, stressful divorce from a man he knew didn't deserve her. While he pined.

The thing was, Ella had been single for a while now. She'd even given dating a try here and there. Why hadn't he made a move if he wanted her?

Why were things with the opposite sex so damn complicated?

Okay.

Maybe I was projecting a bit there.

"She'd be better with someone a lot kinder and sweeter," I told Tucker, wondering if I were being too obvious or possibly too vague.

"I agree," he said.

"Someone who likes the simple things in life, like she and her girls do."

That seemed to get his attention.

"She wouldn't want me," Tuck said, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"I live in my van."

"By choice."

"It's still a van."

"It's not like you'd ask her to move into it with you," I said, shrugging. "She has her own place."

"It's… she doesn't see me that way," he said, turning to go behind the desk. "So, have the dogs gone out yet?"

Right.

Time to let it go.

Obviously, I was no matchmaker.

Hell, I couldn't even control my own love life.

"They were all passed out the last time I checked the cameras."

"Alrighty. I can have my breakfast first them," he said, producing a glass container with what looked like cold, mushy oats coated in… I don't know… some kind of black seeds.

Everything he ate was entirely too healthy for me.

"Go on. Go get some sleep. You look dead on your feet."

"I am," I admitted, gathering my things, then rousing Samson, and heading out, thinking of my bed until I started fantasizing about Atlas in it with me, then I needed to tamp all that back down and just focus on the road ahead of me.

I went in through the back, giving Samson a second to go potty, then sneaking in the back door, figuring it was the least likely to wake up Atlas.

Only to find him wide awake, sitting in the kitchen, holding a plate of pancakes topped with a white flag that he'd made out of a skewer and cut and taped napkin.

"Oh, right, I'm supposed to wave it," he said, moving the plate side to side for a second.

"You made me pancakes?" I asked, feeling a ridiculous sting of tears in my eyes.

No one had cooked for me. Not since I moved out of my parent's house. Definitely never a man.

"Don't give me too much credit. I bought them, stuck them in the fridge, then heated them up when I saw your lights in the driveway," he admitted.

He looked like he'd slept. His dark hair was disheveled and his white tee was wrinkly. But it looked like he'd been up for a bit.

Waiting for me?

I didn't want it to, but my heart squeezed a bit at that possibility.

"I'm starving," I admitted, dropping down my things, then walking over to take the plate.

"Good. Because I have some likely very soggy hash browns heating up too," he said. Then, as if to prove his point, the microwave beeped.

"I'll—"

"Nope," he cut me off, pushing against the floor to roll in front of me before I could get in his way. "I got it. Sit. Relax," he demanded as Samson went over to his already-full bowl, and started to chow down. "How was work?" he asked as I put the cover over the puzzle on the table, so we could eat there.

On a normal day, we would have eaten in the living room. But there was only the couch. And I wasn't sure if it was a good idea for us to be sitting that close again.

So the table it was.

"It was… boring," I admitted. "It's hard to stay awake when there isn't anything to do."

I forced myself to stay in my place and not rush to help Atlas, reminding myself that he wasn't going to be pissed off to do things for himself. That wasn't how it was.

And as he scooted around the kitchen, I had to admit that it was unexpectedly nice to have someone do things for me for a change as he brought the hash browns, then the syrup, and, finally, the carton of orange juice.

"You look flushed," I said as he finally rolled up to the other side of the table.

"It's more taxing than I could have realized to only have one foot to move your whole body around with. It's gonna be nice to get the boot on."

"Already?" I asked as I cut off a small stack of fluffy pancakes.

"Already?" he asked, shaking his head as he poured syrup on his plate. "It feels like forever."

It must have to him.

It felt like no time at all to me.

But, I guess, that was because I'd been enjoying having someone to spend my time with.

With his body working against him, racked with pain, and unable to do even the simplest of tasks for himself, it made sense that it felt like much longer to him.

That, and, of course, the fact that he wasn't used to staying in one place for so long. It must have felt like the days dragged on endlessly, staring at these same walls, not experiencing new sights, new sounds, foods, or cultures.

As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Atlas said, "It's not about being here. It's about not being able to do everything I need to do without assistance. Even shit like driving. It's not my driving leg," he said, waving down to his bulky cast. "But because I can't bend my knee, the seat needs to be so far back, that my right foot can't reach the pedals."

"That's true," I agreed. "And having the cast off will make showering so much easier."

"Fuck, it would be nice to get in there without having to wrap myself up in plastic wrap again."

"Do you know yet how much physical therapy you are going to need?"

"I won't be sure until I actually show up at physical therapy, but my ortho told me to prepare for three months. Part of that in the boot still. And if I don't progress well enough, it could even be six months."

"Geez," I said, shaking my head.

"I'm not sweating that. Once I'm able to move around more, I'll feel better. Can start going places around here again."

"So you'll be around for the holidays," I said.

"Yeah," he said. "Why did that make you all tense?" he asked.

"It's nothing," I said, gaze falling to my food.

"Um, bullshit," he said, making me tense. I didn't even realize his voice was soft until his hand moved across the table, resting over mine. "Did you have plans for Christmas?" he asked.

"Just, you know, decorating," I admitted.

"And my being here would make you… not decorate?"

"I'm sure you have your own ideas about how to decorate your home," I said.

My ex certainly had.

"Actually, don't have a fucking clue about how to decorate it. Since I've never done it."

"But do you like a certain, you know, aesthetic?"

"A Christmas… aesthetic?" he asked, making my gaze lift to his. His hand was still covering mine, and his thumb was working little circles around that triangle between my thumb and forefinger.

"You know, like green and red or red and white. Or some people do a pastel theme. That kind of thing."

"Always figured Christmas was supposed to look like joy threw up all over," he said. "That's how my mom did it, anyway. All the colored lights. Little Santa or elf figurines. She even wrapped the doors in wrapping paper. One year, mine was little dinosaurs with Christmas hats holding gifts."

"That's what my mom did too," I agreed, my heart squeezing at the idea that we were on the same page about something like this.

Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, it was no big deal. But, to me, it meant a lot. I'd had many joyless Christmases in recent years. I'd been daydreaming about having one like I had as a kid again. Even if my original plan had only involved me.

"I should be able to do the outside lights by then too," he said.

"Umm… being on a ladder in a boot is probably not the best idea," I said.

"Well, if the boot is off," he agreed. "So, real or fake tree?" he asked.

"I'm allergic to pine," I admitted, shrugging. "I mean, if you like a real one, I can just take some allergy meds."

"And make you suffer just so I can have a real tree? No, sweetheart. A fake tree works just fine." His gaze was on my face, seeing more than I meant to show him. "What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing," I insisted, pulling my hand out from under his, feeling too distracted by his touch to keep my guards up.

"AJ…"

"Yeah?" I asked, pretending that cutting up my pancakes took my utmost concentration.

"You can tell me about it, you know."

"About what?" I asked, making the mistake of glancing up at him.

There it was.

The knowing in his eyes.

"You can tell me about him."