Page 28 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
Shit.
Panic flares, stupid and irrational, but real. Before he can turn his head my way, I duck behind a man walking past, moving way too fast for my heels to keep up.
And in my haste, my entire coffee tips forward, straight onto his suit jacket.
“Oh my God, I amsosorry!” I gasp, grabbing for napkins from my bag, blotting uselessly at the mess. “I will absolutely pay for cleaning, or—”
The man holds up his hands, surprisingly good-natured about it. “It’s fine. Good thing I live upstairs.” He tilts his head toward my building.
Of course he does.
I manage a sheepish smile but don’t offer up the fact I live there too. I don’t know him like that!
As soon as he disappears inside, I spin on my heel and march right back into HollyDates.
Holly looks up from the espresso machine. “Forgot something?”
“Girl,” I say, breathless, leaning on the counter. “You willnotbelieve what just happened.”
I launch into the story, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. The night in Vegas. The man—Grant—who changed everything for me.
How we’d spent the whole night together. Walking, talking, laughing, like we’d known each other forever. How it wasn’t just the chemistry—it was him. The way he listened. The way he sawme. The way he opened up without hesitation, like it was the easiest thing in the world. The way he held my hand, like I was his.
“By the time the sun came up, I was falling for him. Hard.”
“Aww!” Holly swoons.
“But before we could exchange numbers—or even full names—he pulled away. Said he couldn’t. That I was too close to his daughter’s age and it didn’t feel right. And just like that, he was gone.”
She places a hand over her chest. “Heartbreaking!”
“And now I’m almost certain I just saw him—or someone who looksexactlylike him—walking out of my building.”
Holly’s eyes widen. “Wait. You think he’s here? In Atlanta?”
“I don’t know,” I say, running a hand through my locs. “But if thatwashim…it looks like we live in the same building!”
She lets out a low whistle. “Or he and his wife live there.”
“No,” I snap, too fast, too firm. “He told me he was a widower. It’s more likely he was there visiting a woman. Because apparently, he’s also a player.”
“Ahh! A bad boy,” she teases, waggling her brows.
“Ugh! What if heisseeing someone? How awkward would it be if I lived in the same building as one of his whores?”
She leans back, stretching her neck. “Easy, killer.”
I have no right to feel jealous. None. But something about the thought of him with another woman makes me want to chew glass.
A man I’ve never even kissed.
A man who’s ruined me for everyone else...because of the way he loves his daughter. Because of the way he made me feel seen.
Wanted.
Chapter eight
Enchiladas & Other Drugs
