“You’re delusional.”
“You’re too jaded.”
“Probably. You can do whatever you want. However, don’t come to me crying that I need to fix what you fucked up. I won’t fix your problem.”
“And what problem will that be?”
“To fix your broken heart. You’ve been trying to keep it safe for years, and…” He shakes his head, pretends to wash his hands, and leaves without another word.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nathalie
I should pack my things and go back to New York.
This is so out of my comfort zone.
Fish wasn’t wrong when he said I was bailing, afraid that he’d kick me out. So much for moving into a new place and finding a family. I made myself at home, and then boom, Fisher’s real family came back to town, and now I’m just an afterthought, aren’t I?
You’re being unreasonable, Nathalie.
Am I?
It felt so much like Christmas Day when my brothers came home. Suddenly, I became invisible to my parents. They barely paid attention to me when they were home, but it was as if I had disappeared when their sons visited. Elroy, the middle child, would bring a present and try to play with me for a couple of minutes before he got bored and moved on to the next thing.
I can’t make people love me. It’s exhausting to try. In the end, I always lose.
But maybe with him it’s…
I’m still processing Fish’s words. Could you please give me the chance to fall in love with you?
I touch my lips, still swollen and tingly from the all-consuming kiss.
I’m not drinking tequila, yet I’m tempted to accept his offer. What is wrong with me?
There’s nothing wrong.
Being around Fisher Hannigan feels invigorating. His energy is so contagious that I allow myself to lose control and behave recklessly. No, I believe in myself the way I haven’t before. I dare to do things that I have never allowed myself to do—no alcohol required.
The craziest part is that I feel safe when he’s around. As if a part of me knows that if I fail, he’ll have a safety net ready for when I fall.
But can I date him?
I head to my apartment to change my clothes and call Amber.
“Ready to come home?” the bitch answers. There’s no hello, or how are you?
I guess she’s still expecting that I’ll bail. When I called her yesterday, she heard the poopy ordeal. We were in the middle of cleaning a terrible accident, the poop ended up smothered in everyone’s clothes. Cleaning the baby, scrubbing the wall, and everything else was interesting. I loved wearing Fish’s clothes while we waited for my own to wash and dry. For the past three days, everything has been so intimate and homey between us.
I love it, but can we be more than what we are?
“No, but hot-tattooed-and-delicious wants to date me,” I say.
“Rewind and wait until I’m in my office.”
I hear people chatting in the background and tapping keyboards. I wonder if Fish could pick up the conversations in the background. And what else did he hear during my conversations with my friends?
“Jordan, I’m on an important call. Make sure no one interrupts me,” Amber says on the other side of the line.
“How about your dad?” her assistant, who I bet is afraid of him, asks with a shaky voice.
“Not even him,” she says firmly and shuts the door.
“So, we’re talking about the guy who was butting into our conversation yesterday?” she says in a gossipy tone.
“Yep.”
“Okay, let’s be honest, his voice is sexy. He should be a podcaster or do voice-overs. Though, is he as hot as he sounds? Dad bod, skinny, normal…sculpted and hard?”
“Hmm…do you think Fisher Hannigan is hot?”
“God, I just had an orgasm thinking about him.”
I don’t know how to feel about her response. Should I tell her she can’t fantasize about my man? No. They can’t know it’s Fish. Also, he’s not mine. Is he?
“Are you toying with me, Nat? Or is he that hot? Does he have tattoos too?”
“Yes to both. I don’t know if I want to date him, though. He has a lot going on in his life, and I do too.”
“Okay, I’m listening. What’s stopping you?”
“We’re too different. He’s an extrovert, and well, I’m me. He has a newborn son—who I adore—but I don’t even know what will happen with my life, which I hate. I usually know what I’m going to do. These days it’s a coin toss. Finding myself is more challenging than I thought.”
“Listen, I know you’re scared of relationships and falling in love. Unrequited love sucks. It sucks even more when it comes from your family. You love your parents, and they only have time for your brothers. That’s a pretty big scar. You should go to a therapist to work on your underlying issues.”
I huff. “Like I have money for that.”
“There are a lot of pro bono counselors, but if you can’t do it because you feel like you’re taking away from those who really need it, I’ll pay for it.”
I chuckle. “You’re sending me to therapy.”
“I am. Also, you should give yourself a chance to explore what’s happening with this dude. He’ll be the first man you date who’s not on Fallon Brennan’s pre-approved list of eligible douches. If it doesn’t work, at least you gave it a try. Plus, there’s a baby involved. We know you’re a softy for tiny humans.”
“He’s adorable,” I say with a swoony tone.
“The baby or the dad?”
Both. “The baby, of course.”
“What’s the story with the mom?”
“I’m not sure, but she’s not in the picture.”
“Be careful, but not so much that you won’t have fun.”
“I’ll try.”
“Ugh, Dad is calling me. Contact me if you need anything, Nat. Maybe this Luna Harbor thing was crazy but it's the way to go.”
“Thank you for listening.”
“That’s what besties are for. You always listen when I’m losing my shit. Love you, girl.”
“Love you too,” I say, hanging up.
I change my clothes and head to my appointment. I promise myself to give a chance to this falling in love thing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nathalie
After visiting Mrs. Turner, I go back to Fisher’s house. Hopefully, his manager is gone. Someone should rush that guy to the ER and surgically remove the stick from his ass. As I’m about to cross the street, I spot Fish wearing the baby carrier. I assume Keaghan is safely tucked inside it.
“Wait there,” he says, walking toward me.
“Hey,” I greet him.
He bends and brushes my lips. “I missed you.” Not sure if it’s the kiss, the low voice, or what, but my heart does a backflip with a three-hundred-sixty-degree twist.
“How’s Mrs. Turner?”
I don’t know? Who is Mrs. Turner? Can you kiss me one more time?